"My dear," she said, "what you want is a change. You have just witnessed what I hope is the most flagrant miscarriage of justice of recent years, you have seen twelve fools bamboozled by a knave, you have heard a friend of yours grossly insulted, and you ask me what's the matter." The car swung round a corner, and Lady Touchstone, who was unready, heeled over with a cry. "I wish Mason wouldn't do that," she added testily, dabbing at her _toque_. "So subversive of dignity. What was I saying? Oh yes. A change. We'd better go to Nice." Before Miss French could reply, a deafening report from beneath them announced the dissolution of another tire. Mason brought the car to the side of the road. Then he applied the hand-brake and alighted heavily to inspect the damage. With a resigned air, Lady Touchstone sat awaiting his report. Valerie began to laugh. "Shall I tell you what he's doing?" she said. Her aunt regarded her. "I presume he's staring at the wheel," she said shortly. "Though of what interest a deflated tire can be to anybody passes my comprehension." "Not at all," said her niece. "Mason is trying to make up his mind to tell you that we shall have to walk home. He only brought one spare cover, and we've used that." Lady Touchstone glanced at her watch. "And the Billows," she said grimly, "are coming to lunch in twenty minutes." She raised her voice. "All right, Mason. Miss Valerie's broken it to me. Stop the first vehicle that approaches and ask them to give us a lift." "Very good, my lady." "Supposing," said Valerie, "it's a milk-float." "So much the better," replied her aunt. "I've always wanted to ride in a milk-float. It's the survival of the Roman chariot." Placidly she settled herself in her corner and closed her eyes. "Dear me. What a relief it is not to be moving! If only the Billows weren't coming...." Neither she nor Valerie heard the approach of the Rolls. Indeed, it was not until George Alison, in response to Mason's signals, was bringing the great blue car actually alongside that the ladies realized that help was at hand. The sight of Anthony Lyveden alighting to take his master's orders chilled Valerie as the breath of a crypt. Her aunt, on the contrary, was plainly as pleased as Punch at the encounter.... So soon as Mr. Bumble appreciated that it was the quality of Bell Hammer who sought his assistance, he took appropriate action. Hat in hand, he descended into the road and, speaking with grave civility, put his car at the ladies' disposal. This being accepted, he handed them out of their own and ushered them into the Rolls. Then he bowed very pleasantly and closed the door. Valerie started to her feet. "But, Mr. Bumble," she cried, "of course you're coming. Aunt Harriet, we can't...." "Of course we can't," said Lady Touchstone. "Mr. Bumble, get in at once." Humbly their host shook his head.