Pethel looked at his wife, who looked at me and rather strangely
asked if I was sure I wanted to go with them. I protested that of course I
did. Pethel asked her if SHE really wanted to come.

"You see, dear, there was the run yesterday from Calais. And
to-morrow you'll be on the road again, and all the days after."

"Yes," said Peggy; "I'm SURE you'd much rather stay at
home, darling Mother, and have a good rest."

"Shall we go and put on our things, Peggy?" replied Mrs. Pethel,
rising from her chair. She asked her husband whether he was taking the
chauffeur with him. He said he thought not.

"Oh, hurrah!" cried Peggy. "Then I can be on the front seat!"

"No, dear," said her mother. "I am sure Mr. Beerbohms
would like to be on the front seat."

"You'd like to be with mother, wouldn't you?" the girl appealed. I
replied with all possible emphasis that I should like to be with Mrs.
Pethel. But presently, when the mother and daughter reappeared in the
guise of motorists, it became clear that my aspiration had been set aside.
"I am to be with mother," said Peggy.

I was inwardly glad that Mrs. Pethel could, after all, assert herself
to some purpose. Had I thought she disliked me, I should have been hurt;
but I was sure her desire that I should not sit with her was due merely to a
belief that, in case of accident, a person on the front seat was less safe