"And of course
I'm Roberta, Bobby for short."
"And if we don't hurry, we'll be late for dinner," suggested the
girl who had been called Louise. "You know Carter isn't as patient
as he once was; he hates to have to wait."
Bobby thrust her arm through Betty's protectingly.
"Come on, Betty," she said comfortably. "Never mind about your trunk
check. Carter will drive down after it early in the morning."
Betty's bewildered mind was vaguely appreciative of the wide sweep
of open plaza which lay before them as they came out on the other
side of the station, but before she could say a word she was gently
bundled into a handsome automobile, a girl on either side of her and
one opposite, and the grim-faced, silver-haired old chauffeur,
evidently slightly intolerant of the laughter and high spirits of his
young passengers, had started to thread his way through the lane of
taxicabs and private cars.
Betty was intensely puzzled, to put it mildly. Her uncle had
mentioned no girls in his letters to her, and even supposing that she
had missed some letters, it was hardly possible that he should not
have let fall an explanatory word or two from time to time.
"I thought Uncle Dick would come down to meet me," she said, voicing
her surprise at last.
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