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"And takes at least forty minutes to reach the Manor gates, while I can do it in ten. Please get in."

Nothing could be better than this.

"I have some luggage . . ."

"There's plenty of room."

Her heart sang, and it was all she could do to stop herself from singing. Here was one of those changes of fortune which had so often restored her confidence in life. A minute ago she had been resigning herself to a long and boring wait before she started on a long and boring journey; now after ten minutes' drive with an attractive man she would be at her journey's end. She had been snubbed by an old hag who had deliberately chosen to leave her to kick her heels in this bloody hole; now in ten minutes she would be driven up to her front door by this most presentable neighbor, probably one of the local squirearchy, possibly someone the old hag wanted for her own daughter. Before she got to Doleham, Rosamund was determined to fix the glance of that lively dark eye.

He was helping Chaffage carry her trunk, which would now arrive honorably with her instead of following, perhaps days later, in the station van. She felt in such a good humor with everybody that she gave the old horror half a crown.