He looked round as he spoke at his own large and handsome car. The girl’s car in comparison, was insignificant. “It doesn’t in the least follow that you know anything about it,” said the girl. “I was driving that one.” She pointed to the car in the middle of the road. “And I haven’t the remotest idea what’s wrong.” This time Geoffrey felt that the girl, though pretty, deserved a snub. He was prepared to help her, at some personal inconvenience, but he felt that he had a right to expect politeness in return. “I don’t think you ought to have drawn up right in the middle of the road,” he said. “It’s beginning to get dark and if anything came down the road at all fast there’d be an accident.” “I didn’t draw up in the middle of the road,” said the girl. Geoffrey looked at her car. It was in the middle, the very middle of the road. “I didn’t draw up at all,” said the girl. “The beastly thing just stopped there itself. But I don’t mind telling you that if I could, I’d have turned the car across the road so as to block the way altogether. I’d rather there wasn’t any room to pass. I wanted anyone who came along to stop and help me.” Geoffrey remained polite, which was very much to his credit “I see she’s a Ford,” he said, “and Fords are a bit hard to start sometimes, especially in cold weather. I’ll have a try.” He went to the front of the car and seized the crank handle. He swung it, jerked, it, pulled at it with his full strength. There was a slight gurgling noise occasionally, but the engine refused to start. Geoffrey stood erect and wiped his forehead. The evening was chilly, but he had no reason to complain of being cold. The girl sat on her stone at the side of the road and smoked a fresh cigarette. “I don’t think you’ll do much good that way,” she said. “I’ve been at that for hours.” Geoffrey felt there was, or ought to be a difference between the efforts of a girl, a slight, rather frail looking girl, and those of a vigorous young man. He took off his overcoat and tried again, vainly. Then he opened the throttle wide, and advanced the sparking lever a little. “If you do that,” said the girl, “she’ll back-fire and break your arm--that is to say if she does anything at all, which she probably won’t. She sprained father’s wrist last week. That’s how I came to be driving her to-day.” Geoffrey was aware of the unpleasant effects of a back-fire. But he took the risk without hesitating. Nothing happened. The car, though obstinate, was not apparently malicious. “There must be something wrong,” he said. “Did you try the sparking plugs?” “I had them all out,” said the girl, “and cleaned them with a hairpin and my pocket handkerchief. It isn’t worth your while to take them out again.” Geoffrey fetched a wrench from his own car and began to work on the sparking plugs. “I see you don’t believe me,” said the girl. “But I really did clean them. Just look.”