Audrey laughed. “There’s nobody like you,” she said. “Don’t be absurd,” said her aunt. “I’m a most ordinary type.” Audrey shook her sweet head. “Most people,” she said, “would have been off. I admit it isn’t yet time; it’s quite on the cards that I can put the trouble right. Still, the motor’s stopped on its own, and we, against your advice, are alone in the car. That would have been enough—for most people.” “My dear,” said her aunt, “it’s all a question of girth. Besides, you’re a sweet, pretty child. If all priests were as fat as I and all sinners as charming as you, Purgatory would close down.” Audrey stepped to the bonnet. “Now, don’t go and get oil on your fingers. They’re much too dainty.” “I believe it’s a question of fuel,” said Audrey, laughing. “I may be wrong, but I think we’ve gone dry. Any way, I’ve got my gloves on.” She opened the bonnet and sought to flood the carburettor. No petrol, however, appeared. “That’s right,” said Audrey. “We’re dry. But this is easy because we’ve a can on the step.” Mrs. Trelawney sighed. “These technical terms,” she said, “are entirely beyond me. My impulse is to express surprise that ‘we have a can on the step.’ Why hasn’t it fallen off?” “It’s a can of gasolene—petrol,” said her niece, bubbling. “It’s kept there on purpose in case any time we run out. What I don’t understand is that Budge assured me last night that the tank was full. I suppose the gauge has stuck. Still . . .” She passed to the rear of the car. A glance at the dial showed that the gauge was working. The arrow was pointing to ‘EMPTY.’ Audrey unscrewed the cap of the petrol-tank and peered at its depths. These were certainly dry. What was more to the point, a tiny rent in the metal was admitting daylight. . . . After digesting this phenomenon, Audrey screwed on the cap and returned to Mrs. Trelawney. “Aunt Lettice, darling,” she said, “I’ve let you down. We’re helpless. Our tank’s been holed. Even if Budge were here, we couldn’t move.” “Then how,” demanded her aunt, “have you let me down?” “You’re very generous,” said Audrey. “But if he were here, at least he could go and get help. Now I shall have to go and leave you alone.” “My dear,” said Mrs. Trelawney, “I’m fifty-six, I’m sleepy and I have my tea-basket. To go further, the weather’s superb, and I’m under an elm. Any woman who cannot in such circumstances face an hour of solitude must be unnaturally made. You go, my dear, and prosper. I’ve no fears for you. The first farmer you smile at will put a team at your service.” “I’m afraid we mayn’t get to Salisbury,” said Miss de Lisle. “Then we’ll stay at a village inn and forget the world. I love an adventurous life. You go and smile at your farmer, and I’ll take care of the car. If anyone comes and asks if we want any help, what shall I say?”