He tried to console himself with these arguments, but the pleasure of homecoming was spoiled.  Father did not show any very exuberant joy at seeing him again, and it was disappointing to a warm-hearted nature if people were not exuberant, even for a minute, when you had been away for months.

The automobile, with its gray-silk cushions, its immense plate-glass windows, its travelling boudoir of mirrors, gold scent bottles, and other idiocies, its bouncing bouquet of fresh violets, its electric fittings, its air pillow embroidered with silver monograms and crests, its brocade-lined chinchilla rugs, tricky little extra seats, and marvellous springs, struck Peter as disgustingly ostentatious.

He wondered what Raygan and his mother and sister would think of folks in a democratic country using chinchilla for automobile rugs; and he was sure they must be having interior hysterics over the Rolls coat of arms—­a dragon holding up a spiky crown of some nondescript sort on a cushion.  The dragon looked rather like a frog rampant, and the crowned cushion bore a singular resemblance to a mushroom with an angry ladybird on its apex.  How this family insignia had been obtained Peter did not know.  His ribald questions had been treated by his sister with silent scorn.  He would not be surprised if Ena had designed the thing herself!

As the car smoothly bowled Peter out of Winifred Child’s life, away toward the Long Island manor house and the welcome mother would give, the deposed dryad was having her first experience of New York.

She parted company on the pier with Nadine (in private life Lady Darling), Nadine’s manageress, Miss Sorel, and the quartet of models.  They had almost forgotten her before they had gone two blocks “uptown”; and she had no reason to remember any of them with affection, except, perhaps, Miss Sorel, a relative of her one-time dressmaker who had “got her the job.”

Win had heard that the cost of cabs was “something awful” in America, but she said to herself:  “Just this first time I must have one.”  A bad night and the scene with Peter had dimmed the flame of her courage, and she felt a sinking of the heart instead of a sense of adventure in the thought of taking a “trolley.”  She would be sure to lose herself in searching for the boarding-house.

Her luggage—­checked and in the hypnotic power of a virile expressman—­had already vanished.  It would arrive at its destination ahead of her.  Perhaps there was no room there.  In that case it would be sent away.  Dreadful picture!  False economy not to take a cab!  Win supposed that a taxi would be no dearer than the horse variety and one would sooner learn the secrets of the future.