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180 frid Kelmscourt, what are you doing driving my car, here in Vineclad?”

“Willoughby” stopped the engine and turned to face the tonneau. “I’m doing just that, driving your car, here in Vineclad, in New York, in the United States of America, and I admit it is most amazing,” he said.

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous whiskers?” Mrs. Garden cried, and Mary sat dumfounded.

“I didn’t think you’d find me out, not at once,” “Willoughby” said plaintively.

“How childish you are!” Mrs. Garden said, half laughing, yet evidently annoyed. “Pray tell me how you found me, and why you came here in this silly fashion?”

“Miss Lynette Devon—Mrs. Garden—didn’t you order me not to come where you were again?” asked this extraordinary masquerading chauffeur. “Very well; I came to America, not knowing you were coming here, because it was hard on me to stay in England and not see you. I saw an item in a Sunday paper in New York last week saying you were in Vineclad, New York; known in private life as Mrs. Elias Garden.”

“Oh, Audrey’s correspondence!” interrupted Mrs. Garden.