a part of romance induced him to make a backward movement as
if leaving her to herself. But Turnbull was more rational than he, being
more indifferent.

"I don't think you ought to drive home alone, ma'am," he said, gruffly.
"There seem to be a lot of rowdy parties along this road, and the man
will be no use for an hour. If you will tell us where you are going, we
will see you safely there and say good night."

The young lady exhibited all the abrupt disturbance of a person who is
not commonly disturbed. She said almost sharply and yet with evident
sincerity: "Of course I am awfully grateful to you for all you've
done--and there's plenty of room if you'll come in."

Turnbull, with the complete innocence of an absolutely sound motive,
immediately jumped into the car; but the girl cast an eye at MacIan, who
stood in the road for an instant as if rooted like a tree. Then he also
tumbled his long legs into the tonneau, having that sense of degradedly
diving into heaven which so many have known in so many human houses when
they consented to stop to tea or were allowed to stop to supper. The
slowly reviving chauffeur was set in the back seat; Turnbull and MacIan
had fallen into the middle one; the lady with a steely coolness had
taken the driver's seat and all the handles of that headlong machine. A
moment afterwards the engine started, with a throb and leap unfamiliar
to Turnbull, who had only once been in a motor during a general
election, and utterly unknown to MacIan, who in his present mood thought
it was the end of the world. Almost at the same instant that the car
plucked itself out of the mud and whipped away up the road, the man who
had been flung into the ditch rose waveringly to his feet. When he saw
the car escaping he ran after it and shouted something which, owing
to the increasing distance, could not be heard. It is awful to reflect
that, if his remark was valuable, it is quite lost to the world.

The car shot on up and down the shining moonlit lanes, and there was no
sound in it except the occasional click or catch of its machinery; for
through some cause or other no soul inside it could think of a word to
say. The lady symbolized her feelings, whatever they were, by urging the
machine faster and faster until scattered woodlands went by them in
one black blotch and heavy hills and valleys seemed to ripple under the
wheels like mere waves. A little while afterwards this mood seemed to
slacken and she fell in