As I rushed forward to claim him as my own, Molly and Jack came out of
the hotel.
"Monty!" Jack cried, with a sincerity of joy which warmed my heart.
As for his wife, she cried not at all, but merely gasped.
"What luck for me!" I exclaimed, shaking both Molly's hands so hard
that it was fortunate (as she remarked afterwards) that she had on
"only her rainy-day rings." "I did hope to hear of you at Grenoble,
but scarcely dared think of actually meeting you, even there. In two
minutes more I should have been on the way to catch my train."
"Here's your train, old man," said Jack, indicating the throbbing
automobile.
"My one true love, Mercedes," I remarked, looking fondly at the car.
"Sh!" whispered Molly, with an odd little sound which was like a
giggle strangled at birth. "She's there."
"Who?" I started, bewildered.
"Mercedes."
"I know; the darling! I long to have my hands on her again."
"Oh, Lord Lane, do be careful! You don't understand. I mean the real
Mercedes. The girl who gave me the car. She's sitting there. She'll
hear you."
"It's all right," said Jack. "The motor's making such a row, she
wouldn't catch the words."
"She joined us h--lately," explained Molly hurriedly.
"I remember now. You used to talk rather a lot about her and want us
to meet."
"Well, you have your wish now, dearie," Jack chimed in.
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