The car swept across the narrow bridge and round the corner beyond it. Geoffrey Dane opened the throttle a little and allowed the speed to increase. The road was new to him, but he had studied his map carefully and he knew that a long hill, two miles or more of it, lay before him. His car was highly powered and the engine was running smoothly. He looked forward to a swift, exhilarating rush from the river valley behind him to the plateau of the moorlands above. The road was a lonely one. Since he left a village, three miles behind him, he had met nothing but one cart and a couple of stray cattle. It was very unlikely that he would meet any troublesome traffic before he reached the outskirts of Hamley, the market town six miles beyond the hill and the moorland. The car swept forward, gathering speed. Geoffrey Dane saw the hand of his speedometer creep round the dial till it showed forty miles an hour. Then rounding a bend in the road he saw another car motionless in the very middle of the road. Greoffrey Dane swore abruptly and slowed down. He was not compelled to stop. He might have passed the obstructing car by driving with one wheel in the ditch. But he was a young man with a troublesome conscience, and he was a member of the Royal Automobile Club. He was bound in honour to render any help he could to motorists in distress on the high road. On a stone at the side of the road sat a girl, smoking a cigarette. She was, apparently, the owner or driver of the motionless car. Greoffrey Dane stopped. “Anything wrong?” he asked. The girl threw away the cigarette she was smoking and stood up. “Everything,” she said. Geoffrey Dane stopped his engine with a sigh and got out of his car. He noticed at once that the girl was dishevelled, that her face, particularly her nose, was smeared with dirt, and that there was a good deal of mud on her frock. He recognised the signs of a long and useless struggle with an engine; but he was too well bred to smile. He also noticed that the girl was pretty, slight of figure, and fair, with twinkling eyes. This consoled him a little. Succouring a stranger in distress on a lonely road towards the close of a winter afternoon is not pleasant, but it is distinctly less unpleasant if the stranger is a pretty girl. “Do you know anything about motors?” said the girl. To Geoffrey the question was almost insulting. He was a young man who particularly prided himself on his knowledge of mechanics and his skill in dealing with engines. Also the girl spoke abruptly, not at all in the manner of a helpless damsel seeking charitable assistance. But Geoffrey was a good-humoured young man and the girl was very pretty indeed. He was prepared to make allowances for a little petulance. No temper is exactly sunny after a struggle with a refractory engine. “I ought to know something about motors,” he said. “I’m driving one.”