"What I propose to do," he went on, quite easily now, and steering the car, within the simple limits possible, almost unconsciously, "is to go on like this as long as the road is deserted as it is now. As soon as we reach Brookdale--or whatever village we touch first--I will try to find a big enough sweep to turn around in and simply retrace our way. This I shall continue to do until this brutal machinery runs down. It will be dull, but safe. All the farmhouses have turns for their own waggons, and I can be fairly sure of a clear path around a watering trough or sign board, you see. There is a good broad sweep, I noticed, in front of the last farm before we turn into the woods here and I'm not afraid to go as near Huntersville as that. To begin with, they'd never believe that we would be so foolish as to come back, and they will naturally suppose that we took the regular state road and got across the river; touring-cars like this don't go up this way--unless they are obliged to," he added grimly, as an unusually rough spot shook them till their very teeth rattled. "I hope you approve of this plan?" he concluded politely. "I suppose it is the best thing to do, considering everything," she answered after a little pause, "though I wish . . . when shall we reach Brookdale?" "I am unable to tell you," Antony replied with a touch of asperity, "and I really cannot see what difference it makes, since we can hardly hope to stop there on our first trip." "To be sure," she said, "I forgot. You manage the car so well that I forgot that you can't do anything you like with it. You must excuse me." At these words a comforting and fragrant warmth, the very subtle aroma of well-being, stole about Antony's heart, and his face relaxed insensibly. He could the more readily excuse her ingenuous error because he had more than once in the last hour fallen into it himself. It was difficult to believe that his control of this cumbrous soft-bitted monster, answering so sweetly to the slightest contraction of his wrist, was merely nominal; that only the most extraordinary good fortune stood between him and crushing ruin. "Why do you suppose that ugly fat man wanted to stop us, Mr. Tony?" Nette demanded suddenly--"did he have any right to, or any reason?" Antony sighed thoughtfully, and his various feelings struggled in his face. "As to his rights," he answered judicially, "I really could not say. He certainly had some kind of badge. But as to his reasons, I fear the only difficulty will be to count them." "To count them?" she repeated curiously. "Are there so many, then?" Antony shrugged his shoulders expressively.