Part 5 (2/2)
All the feminine impulse to defend flared up.
”Why not?” she exclaimed with pa.s.sion. ”Who has he got? Who stands with him in his house? No wonder he can not bear the man who is hired to do what a Ffrench should be doing. It is not the racing driver he dislikes, but the manager. And do not you blame him, d.i.c.k Ffrench.”
Quite aghast, he stared after her as she turned away to the nearest window. But presently he followed her over, still holding the papers.
”Don't you want to read about the race?” he ventured.
Smiling, though her lashes were damp, Emily accepted the peace offering.
”Yes, please.”
”You're not angry? You know I'm a stupid chump sometimes; I don't mean it.”
This time she laughed outright.
”No; I am sorry I was cross. It is I who would like to s.h.i.+rk my work.
Never mind me; let us read.”
They did read, seated opposite each other in the broad window-seat and pa.s.sing the sheets across as they finished them. d.i.c.k had not exaggerated, on the contrary he had not said enough. Lestrange and his car were the focus of the hour's attention. The daring, the reckless courage that risked life for victory, the generosity which could throw that victory away to aid a comrade, and lastly the determination and skill which had won the conquest after all--the whole formed a feat too spectacular to escape public hysteria. It was very doubtful indeed whether Lestrange liked his idolizing, but there was no escape.
The two who read were young.
”It was a splendid fight,” sighed d.i.c.k, when they dropped the last page.
”Yes,” Emily a.s.sented. ”When he comes back, when you see him, give him my congratulations.”
”When I see him? Why don't you tell him yourself?”
Something like a white shadow wiped the scarlet of excitement from her cheeks, as she averted her face.
”I shall not see him; I shall not go to the factory any more. It will be better, I am sure.”
Vaguely puzzled and dismayed, d.i.c.k sat looking at her, not daring to question.
Emily kept her word during the weeks that followed. Through d.i.c.k and Bailey she heard of factory affairs; of the sudden increase of orders for the Mercury automobiles, the added prestige gained, and the public favor bestowed on the car. But she saw nothing of the man who was responsible for all this. Instead she went out more than ever before.
Their social circle was too painfully exclusive to be large or gay.
Three times a week it was Mr. Ffrench's stately custom to visit the factory and inspect it with Bailey. At other times Bailey came up to the house, where affairs were conducted. But in neither place did Mr.
Ffrench ever come in contact with his manager, during all the months while winter waxed and waned again to spring.
”That's Bailey's doing,” chuckled d.i.c.k, when Emily finally wondered aloud at the circ.u.mstance. ”He isn't going to risk losing Lestrange because our high and mighty uncle falls out with him. And it would be pretty likely to happen if they met. Lestrange has a temper, you know, even if it doesn't stick out all over him like a hedgehog; and a dozen other companies would give money to get him.”
Emily nodded gravely. It was a sunny morning in the first of March, and the cousins were at the end of the old park surrounding Ffrenchwood, where they had strolled before breakfast.
”Mr. Bailey likes Mr. Lestrange,” she commented.
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