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"Ah," cried the secretary, "here he is at last."

She jumped to her feet just as a small, dark Austin stopped at the ticket-office door. Old Chaffage came up with the luggage on a handcart.

"Would this be all, Mum?"

Before Iris could speak, Mrs. Gailey had told him her trunk had better wait to come by van. "I can manage quite well with this suitcase till tomorrow."

She was going to put it on the top of the other bags when Iris stopped her.

"I'm afraid there won't be room for either you or your luggage in this small car."

For the first time the secretary looked daunted.

"Then what am I to do?"

"There's a bus that passes the drive gate. When is it due here, Mr. Chaffage?"

"In another hour, Mum. Half-past five's his time, but he's often late."

"We could have found room for you in my own car," said Iris, speaking more graciously now that the other woman was at last in her place, "but this is my chauffeur's little runabout, and it will be a tight fit for my maid and me without anyone extra."