But just now--she was in her element."
"Mother, you must let me learn motoring!" cried the girl of seventeen,
hanging on her mother's arm. She was flushed with innocent envy. Helena
driving Lord Buntingford seemed to her at the top of creation.
"Goose! It wouldn't suit you at all," said the mother, smiling. "Please
take my prayer-book indoors."
The babe went obediently.
The miles ran past. Helena, on her mettle, was driving her best, and
Buntingford had already paid her one or two brief compliments, which she
had taken in silence. Presently they topped a ridge, and there lay
Dansworth in a hollow, a column of smoke gashed with occasional flame
rising above the town.
"A big blaze," said Buntingford, examining it through a field-glass.
"It's the large brewery in the market-place. Hullo, you there!" He hailed
a country cart, full of excited occupants, which was being driven rapidly
towards them. The driver pulled up with difficulty.
Buntingford jumped out and went to make enquiries.
"It's a bad business, Sir," said the man in charge of the cart, a small
farmer whom Buntingford recognized.
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