was built all over
England in the beginning of the last century, while architecture was
still an expression of the national character. That was the Grange,
remarked Albert, over his shoulder, and then he jammed the brake on, and
the motor slowed down and stopped. "I'm sorry," said he, turning round.
"Do you mind getting out--by the door on the right. Steady on."

"What's happened?" asked Mrs. Warrington.

Then the car behind them drew up, and the voice of Charles was heard
saying: "Get the women out at once." There was a concourse of males,
and Margaret and her companions were hustled out and received into the
second car. What had happened? As it started off again, the door of a
cottage opened, and a girl screamed wildly at them.

"What is it?" the ladies cried.

Charles drove them a hundred yards without speaking. Then he said: "It's
all right. Your car just touched a dog."

"But stop!" cried Margaret, horrified.

"It didn't hurt him."

"Didn't really hurt him?" asked Myra.

"No."

"Do PLEASE stop!" said Margaret, leaning forward. She was standing up in
the car, the other occupants holding her knees to steady her. "I want to
go back, please."

Charles took no notice.

"We've left Mr. Fussell behind," said another; "and Angelo, and Crane."

"Yes, but no woman."

"I expect a little of "--Mrs. Warrington scratched her palm--"will be
more to the point than one of us!"

"The insurance company see to that," remarked Charles, "and Albert will
do the talking."

"I want to go back, though, I say!" repeated Margaret, getting angry.

Charles took no notice. The motor, loaded with refugees, continued to
travel very slowly down the hill. "The men are there," chorused the
others. "They will see to it."

"The men CAN'T see to it. Oh, this is ridiculous! Charles, I ask you to
stop."

"Stopping's no good," drawled Charles.

"Isn't it?" said Margaret, and jumped straight out of the car. She fell
on her knees, cut her gloves, shook her hat over her ear. Cries of alarm
followed her. "You've hurt yourself," exclaimed Charles, jumping after
her.

"Of course I've hurt myself!" she retorted.

"May I ask what--"

"There's nothing to ask," said Margaret.

"Your hand's bleeding."

"I know."

"I'm in for a frightful row from the pater."

"You should have thought of that sooner, Charles."

Charles had never been in such a position before. It was a woman in
revolt who was hobbling away from him--and the sight w