exactly what you're told--to drive very slow and very carefully, and
to set me down the instant I'm tired of you, because Aunt Agatha won't
hear of our going for more than half-an-hour or so, and it will take
some diplomacy to arrange even that."

Then she tripped up-stairs, leaving the door open, so that Dick,
looking at himself in the glass, wondering, honest fellow, what she
could see in him to like, and thinking what a lucky dog he was,
overheard the following conversation at the threshold of his
step-mother's chamber on the floor above.

A light tap--a smothered "Who's there?" and the silvery tones of the
voice he loved--

"Aunt Agatha--may Mr. Stanmore drive me to Rose and Brilliant's in his
phaeton?"

Something that sounded very like "Certainly not."

"But please, Aunt Agatha," pleaded the voice, "I've got a headache,
and an open carriage will do me so much good, and you can call for me
afterwards, whenever you like, to do our shopping. I sha'n't be five
minutes putting my bonnet on, and the wind's changed, and it's such a
beautiful day!"

Here a door opened, whispers were exchanged, it closed with a bang, a
bell rang, an organ in the street struck up "The Marseillaise," and
ere it had played eight bars, Maud was on the stairs again looking, to
Dick's admiring eyes, like an angel in a bonnet coming straight down
from heaven.