The servant came up and announced that the carriage was waiting. We went downstairs. It was a little brougham, dull chocolate in colour. A coachman in quiet livery sat on the box; a footman opened the door for us. The brougham was drawn by a pair of chestnuts. "Most unsuitable," I murmured to myself. "What sort of man is Mr. Randolph?" Mother, however, looked quite at home and happy in the little brougham. She got in, and we drove off. It was now the middle of November, and I am sure several faces were pressed against the glass of the drawing-room windows as we were whirled rapidly out of the Square. CHAPTER XI WHY DID HE DO IT? Mr. Randolph had engaged a private room at the hotel. We sat down three to dinner. During the first pause I bent towards him and said in a semi-whisper-- "Why did you send that grand carriage for us?" "Did it annoy you?" he asked, slightly raising his brows, and that quizzical and yet fascinating light coming into his eyes. "Yes," I replied. "It was unsuitable." "I do not agree with you, Westenra," said mother. "It was unsuitable," I continued. "When we stepped into our present position we meant to stay in it. Mr. Randolph humiliates us when he sends unsuitable carriages for us." "It happened to be my friend's carriage," he answered simply. "He lent it to me--the friend who has also given me tickets for the Lyceum. I am sorry. I won't transgress again in the same way." His tone did not show a trace of annoyance, and he continued to speak in his usual tranquil fashion. As to mother, she was leaning back in her chair and eating a little, a very little, of the many good things provided, and looking simply radiant. She was quite at home. I saw by the expression on her face that she had absolutely forgotten the boarding-house; the attics were as if they had never existed; the third floor and the second floor boarders had vanished completely from her memory. Even Jane Mullins was not. She and I were as we used to be; our old house in Sumner Place was still our home. We had our own carriage, we had our own friends. We belonged to Mayfair. Mother had forgotten Bloomsbury, and what I feared she considered its many trials. Mr. Randolph talked as pleasantly and cheerfully as man could talk, keeping clear of shoals, and conducting us into the smoothest and pleasantest waters. When dinner was over he led us to the same unsuitable carriage and we drove to the Lyceum. We had a very nice box on the first tier, and saw the magnificent play to perfection. Mr. Randolph made me take one of the front chairs, and I saw many of my old friends. Lady Thesiger kissed her hand to me two or three times, and at the first curtain paid us both a brief visit. "Ah," she said, "this is nice; your trial scheme is over, Westenra, and you are back again." "Nothing of the kind," I answered, colouring with vexation. "Introduce me to your friend, won't you?" she continued, looking at Mr. Randolph with a queer half amused gaze.