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THE LUNCHEON - The Roll-Call
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"D'you drive?" he inquired.
"Yes," she said. "Look here, would you like to sit in front? And I'll drive."
"Good!" he agreed vigorously. But he had a qualm about the safety of being driven by a girl.
She abruptly stopped the car, and the chauffeur swerved to the pavement.
"I'm going to drive, Cuthbert," she said.
"Yes, miss," said the chauffeur willingly. "It's a bit side-slippy, miss."
She gave no answer to this remark, but got out of the car with a preoccupied, frowning air, as if she was being obliged to take a responsible post, which she could fill better than anybody else, rather against her inclination. A few persons paused to watch. She carefully ignored them; so did George.
As soon as she had seized the wheel, released the brake and started the car, she began to talk, looking negligently about her. George thought: "She's only showing off." Still, the car travelled beautifully, and there was a curious illusion that she must have the credit for that. She explained the function of handles, pedals, and switches, and George deemed it proper to indicate that he was not without some elementary knowledge of the subject. He leaned far back, as Lois leaned, and as the chauffeur had leaned, enjoying the brass fittings, the indicators, and all the signs of high mechanical elaboration.
He noticed that Lois sounded her horn constantly, and often upon no visible provocation. But once as she approached cross-roads at unslackened speed, she seemed to forget to sound it and then sounded it too late. Nothing untoward happened; Sunday traffic was thin, and she sailed through the danger-zone with grand intrepidity.
"I say, George," she remarked, looking now straight in front of her. ("She's a bit of a caution," he reflected happily.) "Have you got anything special on this afternoon?"
"Nothing what you may call deadly special," he answered. He wanted to call her 'Lois,' but his volition failed at the critical moment.
"Well, then, won't you come and have tea with Miss Wheeler and me? There'll only be just a few people, and you must be introduced to Miss Wheeler."
"Oh! I don't think I'd better." He was timid.
"Why not?" She pouted.
"All right, then. Thanks. I should like to."
"By the way, what's your surname?"
("She _is_ a caution," he reflected.)
"I wasn't quite sure," she said, when he had told her.
He was rather taken aback, but he reassured himself. No doubt girls of her environment did behave as she behaved. After all, why not?
They entered Hammersmith. It was a grand and inspiring sensation to swing through Hammersmith thus aristocratically repudiating the dowdy Sunday crowd that stared in ingenuous curiosity. And there was a wonderful quality in the spectacle of the great, formidable car being actuated and controlled by the little gloved hands and delicately shod feet of this frail, pampered, wilful girl. 
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