The Brother of Daphne Part 14

"The privilege of accompanying you on foot till we can get a light.

You can't drive at more than a walking pace on this road without lamps.

And it's not right for you to be alone."

"You are very good. But are you going my way?"

"I've not the faintest idea."

"Are you lost, then?"

"Hopelessly. Have been for hours."

"Where do you want to get to?"

"A farmhouse three miles out of Lorn."

"Which side of Lorn?"

"Well, if I'm the same side of Lorn as I was at one o'clock this afternoon, it's the other side."

"Well, but aren't you?"

"My dear girl, I don't know."

She laughed. "Well, I'm going to Lorn, any way," she said, "so come along."

"Heaven will reward you," said I, and climbed into the cart.

"You'd better drive."

I took the reins. We had to go very slowly, for it was one of the imitation roads, and when we were not scaling an ascent that positively beetled, we were going down a descent which I was glad it was too dark to see. After a minute or two, I took the near wheel eighteen inches up the bank.

"Sorry," said the girl, as she disengaged herself from my neck and arms and resumed her seat, "but it was your fault for taking it up the bank."

"I know. I hope you weren't frightened. I'm awfully sorry."

"You drive rather well, considering."

"Steady the Buffs. Considering what?"

"Considering it's your first shot."

In silence I gave her the reins.

"After that," I said icily, "after that there is no more to be said.

Was it for this that, at the age of four, I was borne by two reluctant goats along the Hastings strand? Pardon me, those last six words comprise an iambic line--a fact which is itself the best evidence of my agitation. It is a little winning way I have. Most criminals when charged make no reply. When I am arrested, I shall protest in anapaests. As I was saying, was it for this--?"

"Stop, stop," she said, laughing; "you drive all right--beautifully."

I took the reins again.

It was getting very cold, and I put the rug carefully about her.

"You're very good," she said, "but wait."

I felt her hand on my knee.

"Oh, you haven't got any of it."

She would have untucked it again if I hadn't caught her wrist.

"That's all right," I said. "I'm not allowed rugs."

"Nonsense."

"My dear, doctor's orders. The last thing the great Harley Street specialist said to me, as I pushed the two pounds two s.h.i.+llings beneath the current number of The Lancet, was, 'Now, mind, no rugs. Eat and drink what you like. Smoke in moderation, and get up as late as you please. But no rugs.'"

As the wrist felt unconvinced, I slipped it through my arm, where it lay comfortably enough.

"Do you often do this sort of thing?" I said presently.

"Get late coming home and have no lights? Not often."

"I'm glad of that--I'm sure it's very dangerous. Good whips like myself aren't as common as blackberries. And so few tramps one meets nowadays can drive really well."

"I don't look as if I'd got any money, do I?"

"Well, you don't look anything just now, as it's too dark to see; but you sound like a wrist-watch and a chain--purse."

"How did you know?"

"Intuition," I said carelessly. "You see I'm a boy-scout."

"Feel."

She laid a slim, warm wrist against my cheek. I distinctly felt the cold round gla.s.s of a wrist-watch.

"And I've got a chain-purse in my bag." "Ah!"

"Go on, boy-scout. Tell me what I look like in the daytime."

"You have ear-rings and your face is rather cold. About the kind of ear-rings I am not certain."

"How did you know that?"

"I found that out, when--er--when we went up the bank."

"Oh!"

"Yes," I went on hurriedly, "and--"