“Oh, no, Charlotte,” said the girl, entering the battle. “George Emerson is all right, and what other source is there?”

Miss Bartlett considered. “For instance, the driver. I saw him looking through the bushes at you, remember he had a violet between his teeth.”

Lucy shuddered a little. “We shall get the silly affair on our nerves if we aren't careful. How could a Florentine cab-driver ever get hold of Cecil?”

“We must think of every possibility.”

“Oh, it's all right.”

“Or perhaps old Mr. Emerson knows. In fact, he is certain to know.”

“I don't care if he does. I was grateful to you for your letter, but even if the news does get round, I think I can trust Cecil to laugh at it.”