"I am not at all sure that it is respectable," said Musette severely. "It will only be her left hand," pleaded Reggie. "Oh, well, in that case," said Musette; and, without further objection, she seated herself alongside of Tony. Five minutes' flirtation with death brought the car to Portman Mansions, where Gwendoline, a charming blend of Dresden china and Paquin, floated delicately into the limousine. Then away past Euston and King's Cross, up through the sordid dreariness of Pentonville and so out on to the far-flung Broxbourne road. Once clear of the general traffic, Tony began to enjoy himself. Over the first ten police-ridden miles the big car glided along at a steady twenty-five, and then, as the houses became fewer, and the green fields began to appear on either side of the road, the index finger on the speedometer crept encouragingly up. Musette, who seemed to be blessed with delightfully steady nerves, watched him with frank interest. She made no attempt to talk, such conversation as there was being almost wholly confined to spirited comments from Tony on the extraordinary prevalence of deaf and lame pedestrians. Indeed, his only departure from this interesting monologue was an occasional hurried request to Musette to "Give 'em the Gabriel," a presentation which she effected with promptness and efficiency. From the tonneau behind, Reggie, who was softly stroking Gwendoline's hand, surveyed them with languid approval. "I don't suppose," he said contentedly, "that there are four such charming people as ourselves in the whole of England." Gwendoline looked a little doubtful. "I think Musette is very nice," she said, "but I don't quite understand her." "You should never understand any one," replied Reggie. "It's like knowing the answer to a riddle." "Does Tony love her?" asked Gwendoline. Reggie thought for a moment, "I'm inclined to think it's more serious than that," he said. "I have an idea that he likes her." Gwendoline wrinkled up her forehead. "I can't love any one I don't like," she said decisively. "I've tried several times, and it's always been a failure." "I can," observed Reggie frankly. "I love lots of people, but I don't think I like any one very much except you and Tony, and Martin, my valet. If you all died, I should become what my uncle calls 'a slave to passion.'" "It sounds rather nice," said Gwendoline. Reggie sighed. "It's dreadfully expensive," he observed.