With less certain logic

"The man was a slow driver; and you've got a much better car." He gave no sign that he saw the weakness of that reply. He changed the subject, "You say your father's the American Ambassador?" "Yes, he is." "Then you ought not to be wandering about alone here. I think I ought to 'phone the police, for your own protection." "Thank you, but I am quite capable of looking after myself. I shall be all right when I leave here." "Perhaps you're not the best judge of that." He went out as he spoke. He did not close the door, and she wondered whether it would be worth while, to attempt to escape to the security of the open street. But she judged correctly that it would not be easy to do. And if he were really 'phoning the police - - But she did not believe that. Well, while she must remain here, there was no reason she should not take the comfort that the room provided. She sank into the depths of a padded chair. . . . She sat there a long time, her mind reviewing and memorizing what had occurred, and reaching the sound conclusion that her presence in that house provided a difficult problem for its owner to solve. With less certain logic, she offered herself the comfortable deduction that she had nothing about which to worry. That was for the proprietor of the Snacklit Home. And so, relaxation from past excitement, comfort and warmth had their natural effect, and when, a full hour afterwards, the door opened quietly, she was so nearly asleep that she was unaware of what was happening until it was almost too late to speak. She looked up to see a tea-tray on a low table beside her, and a maid-servant retiring through the door. She called sharply and rather incoherently, on which the girl came a step back into the room. "How long have I - what time is it?" she began, as she rose from the chair. "Will you tell Mr. - the gentleman - that I cannot stay longer? I should like a taxi called. That is if mine - - " She saw the uselessness of saying more to a girl whose vacuous expression did not change.