They were happy though no word of love had been spoken between them from the moment she had drawn from his arms. And their happiness was such that even a faulty cylinder and a choked carburettor were matters of little moment.
They had eaten a very bad luncheon in Maidstone without noticing the fact. They had encountered perils innumerable (the steering gear had gone wrong and temporary repairs had to be effected without the aid of a tool chest) and were yet cheerful. They had been bumped and shaken and jarred but they had had compensation. They had seen the uprising ridges of the Kentish Rag green and white and starred with flowers. They had looked through a golden haze across mysterious valleys. They had heard the songs of birds and had tasted the joys which come only to those who love youth and young things.
If the clouds were banking up in the west and an occasional puff of cold wind came to remind them of May’s treachery they, for their part, saw no cloud in their sky, felt no chill winds in their rosy world.
They reached the top of a particularly trying hill and Alphonso stopped the car and got down. Before them the road dipped straightly down to a level crossing. A mile beyond the railway there was a little hill which promised no distress of mind.
“Wouldn’t this be a lovely place to paint!” said the girl.
“Don’t let’s talk about art,” he begged with a wry face, “let us talk of beautiful things—such as tea and shrimps.”
She shrieked with merriment at his feeble jest.
“I wonder what is going to happen,” said the girl becoming grave.
“Happen, how, where?” he asked in surprise.
“About us,” she said.
He took her two hands in his.
“I am going to be tremendously rich.”
“Did I tell you I was engaged?” she asked timidly after a long silence.
It was nothing less than an act of heroism for her to ask this question.
“I have a dim idea you said something about it a long time ago,” he said.
“Did I really?” she asked relieved. “I had a feeling—”
“If you didn’t tell me I saw your ring,” he said and she went red because she had removed that ring after their second meeting and had never worn it again.
“I think I have told you that I had £300 a year,” he went on; “now that we are confessing our handicaps I might as well own up to mine.”
“You told me you were absolutely penniless,” she said severely. “£300 a year is a fortune.”
“£300 a year is only a fortune to the immensely rich, to the poor it is worse than poverty.”
“You can do a lot with £300 a year,” she said thoughtfully, “and what shall I do with my money? I can’t throw it away.”
“You will do nothing with it,” he said firmly; “when my £300 a year has become £10,000 a year we can do things.”
She laughed happily, twisting his watch guard round her finger.
“I cannot understand myself,” she said. “I have been such a selfish mercenary pig. I didn’t know there was any happiness in the world.”
For the second time that day he slipped his arm around her, raised her face to his and kissed her.
“Tea,” he said practically, started the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat, stretching out his hand to assist her to his side.
The car started with a jerk but ran smoothly down the hill.
“It is rather lucky that gate is open,” he said as the machine gathered speed. “It would be rather comic if we couldn’t stop the car.”
A piercing shriek of an engine brought his head round.
“That must be another line,” he said uneasily and put his hand on the brake; “anyway, the gate is open,” he said relieved.
Again came the frenzied scream of the engine and he heard the thunder of its wheels. He was fifty yards from the crossing when he saw the gates begin to move. He pressed on the foot brake without producing any diminution of speed, gripped the hand brake, pulled it back until he felt the snap of the rotten handle as it broke. There was nothing for it but to take a risk. He pushed over the accelerator and the car leaped forward. …
Car and gate and train seemed to reach the spot simultaneously.
The girl found herself flung headlong into a ditch, fortunately landing in the soft mud at the bottom. Alphonso’s fall was broken by the quick-set hedge which ripped his clothes to ribbons and scarred his face and hands. He picked himself up and went in search of the girl and found her as she was climbing unsteadily on to the permanent way.
The train had pulled up with a jerk amidst a chaos of smashed gate and mangled motorcar. Fortunately, it was slowing at the closed gate at the time the collision occurred, otherwise these two young people presenting a fantastic appearance might have ended their promising careers.
“Are you hurt?” were the first words she asked.
His face was scratched and his clothes were torn but though he had by far the worse experience his was not the woebegone appearance which the girl presented. She was caked with mud, a dab of mud was on her cheek, her hat was gone and her long brown hair was flying in all directions.
The passengers of the “special” were perhaps more perturbed than its victims.
“It is an accident. We have run into a motorcar,” reported the conductor.
“Is anybody killed?” asked Sir Ralph in alarm.
“No, sir, a young man and a young woman who are more frightened than hurt.”
“Let us go and look at them,” said Lord Flanborough
