Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
thing as difficult as possible—almost as though the absurd old feud had not been forgotten and I had put myself at her mercy. More than anything else I felt the loss of the car. They used it so unmercifully that I hourly expected the man to give notice; and in the meantime poor Aunt Ann was left to go by taxi—when she could find one.
I ought never to have lent it? My dear, you are preaching to the converted, but I have a reason different from yours. I was standing helplessly outside Covent Garden one night, when a taxi providentially drove up and I got into it. Only when I was half-way home did I remember that I had not told the man where to take me. Laugh, if you will; but I have never been so frightened! The wildest stories of kidnapping and robbery surged into my head. I was wearing my tiara, and the man had made a bee-line for me. . . Yet we were driving the shortest way to Mount Street, and the mystery was not explained until the man—with delightful and most unexpected civility—jumped down from the box, opened the door and stood cap in hand, waiting to help me out. Almost as though one had been Royalty. . .
“You have forgotten me, Lady Ann?,” he asked.
And then I’m not sure that the second
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