Rainham's commission had been
settled. Balding's had never seemed so huge and so complicated, and when
she at length made her way to the right department the suave assistant
regretted that the trimming was sold out. It was Cecilia's face of blank
dismay that made him suddenly remember that there was possibly an odd
length somewhere, and a search revealed it, put away in a box of odds
and ends. Cecilia's thanks were so heartfelt that the assistant was
mildly surprised.
"For she don't seem the sort to wear ghastly stuff like that," he
pondered, glancing after the pretty figure in the well-cut coat and
skirt.
Outside the great shop Cecilia glanced up and caught the eye of a
taxi-driver who had just set down a fare.
"I'll be extravagant for once," she thought. She beckoned to the man,
and in a moment was whirring through the streets in the peculiar comfort
a motor gives to anyone in a hurry in London--since it can take
direct routes instead of following the roundabout methods of buses and
underground railways. She leaned back, closing her eyes. If this summons
to Bob indeed meant that their sailing orders had come, she would need
all her wits and her coolness. For the first time she realized what her
stepmother's absence from home might mean--a thousandfold less plotting
and planning, and no risk of a horrible scene at the end. Cecilia
loathed scenes; they had not existed in Aunt Margaret's scheme of
existence.
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