"I'll tell you," answered Jonathan, sternly. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. She hoped that Shari would not be too brokenhearted about her disappearance. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree.
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