Now an automobile was a marvellous dragon for Rosemary, and she could
never see too many for her pleasure. Above all things, she would have
loved a spin on the back of such a dragon, and she liked choosing
favourites from among the dragon brood.
A splendid dark blue one was panting and quivering before the door of
the Hotel de Paris, having just been started by a slim chauffeur in a
short fur coat. As Rosemary gazed, deciding that this was the noblest
dragon of them all, a young man ran down the steps of the hotel and got
into the car. He took his place in the driver's seat, laid his hand on
the steering wheel as if he were caressing a baby's head, the chauffeur
sprang up beside his master, and they were off. But with a cry, Rosemary
rushed across the road.
The nou-nou shrieked and hugged her muffled charge; the old lady
screamed, and all the other old ladies and young ladies, and pretty
girls sitting on the benches, or walking about, screamed too.
The man who drove was pale under his coat of brown tan as with a crash
of machinery he brought the big blue car to a stop so close to the child
that its glittering bonnet touched her coat.
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