" Mr. Purcey laid his hand on the
flank of his palpitating car. "Know these A.i. Damyers, Mrs. Dallison?
Best value you can get, simply rippin' little cars. Wish you'd try her."
The A.i. Damyer, diffusing an aroma of the finest petrol, leaped and
trembled, as though conscious of her master's praise. Cecilia looked at
her.
"Yes," she said, "she's very sweet."
"Now do!" said Mr. Purcey. "Let me give you a run--Just to please me, I
mean. I'm sure you'll like her."
A little compunction, a little curiosity, a sudden revolt against all
the discomfiture and sordid doubts she had been suffering from, made
Cecilia glance softly at Mr. Purcey's figure; almost before she knew
it, she was seated in the A.i. Damyer. It trembled, emitted two small
sounds, one large scent, and glided forward. Mr. Purcey said:
"That's rippin' of you!"
A postman, dog, and baker's cart, all hurrying at top speed, seemed to
stand still; Cecilia felt the wind beating her cheeks. She gave a little
laugh.
"You must just take me home, please."
Mr. Purcey touched the chauffeur's elbow.
"Round the park," he said. "Let her have it."
The A.i. Damyer uttered a tiny shriek. Cecilia, leaning back in her
padded corner, glanced askance at Mr. Purcey leaning back in his; an
unholy, astonished little smile played on her lips.
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