"What, I?" She laughed. "Why should I be afraid? The wait will not
matter. But the truth is, I'm worried about mother. She would go to
that suffragette meeting; and I understand they have tried to burn up
the prime minister's house."

"Fine chance! But don't you worry. Your mother's a sensible woman.
She'll get back to the hotel, if she isn't there already."

"I wish she had not gone. Father will be tearing his hair and twigging
the whole Savoy force by the ears."

Crawford smiled. Readily enough he could conjure up the picture of Mr.
Killigrew, short, thick-set, energetic, raging back and forth in the
lobby, offering to buy taxicabs outright, the hotel, and finally the
city of London itself; typically money-mad American that he was.
Crawford wanted to laugh, but he compromised by saying: "He must be
very careful of that hair of his; he hasn't much left."

"And he pulls out a good deal of it on my account. Poor dad! Why in
the world should I marry a title?"

"Why, indeed!"

"Mrs. Crawford was beautiful tonight. There wasn't a beauty at the
opera to compare with her. Royalties are frumps, aren't they? And
that ruby! I don't see how she dares wear it!"

"I am not particularly fond of it; but it's a fad of hers. She likes
to wear it on state occasions. I have often wondered if it is really
the Nana Sahib's ruby, as her uncle claimed. Driver, the Savoy, and