"The devil they have!" said I. Here, as certain of our own writers say and have said, a gurgle of delight escaped her. I leaned forward and grabbed at something, caught and handed it to her. She stared at my empty palm. "Your gurgle, I think." "Oh," she said, laughing, "you are mad. But I like you. Now, why is that?" "Personal charm," said I. "The palmist who sits where the draughts are in the Brown Park Hotel, West Central, said I had a magnetism of my own." "There you are. I never believed in palmistry." "She also told me to beware of lifts, and a fellow trod on one of my spats in the one at Dover Street the very next morning. Hullo!" Pomfret slowed gradually down and stopped. I turned to the girl. "This is what we pay the boy sixteen shillings a week for." "What's the matter?" "Petrol's run out. I'm awfully sorry. The silly serf must have forgotten to fill up before I started." "My dear Hare, what shall we do?" I made a rapid calculation. "We can't be more than a quarter of a mile from Fell. In fact, I'm almost sure it's at the foot of the next hill. Yes, I know it is. And if we can get Pomfret to the crest of this rise, it's all down-hill from there to the village. Shall we try, Alice?" "Rather!" She got out, and I followed. Fortunately the slope was a gentle one, and, without much of the harder labour, we managed to top the rise. Then we got in again, and began to descend the hill. When the brakes failed, one after another, I was, if possible, more pained than surprised. I rebuked Pomfret and turned to my companion: "Do you mind making ready to die?" I said. "I'm sorry, but if we don't take the next corner, I'm afraid we shall be what is called 'found later'." We took it on two wheels, and I then ran Pomfret's near front wheel on to the low bank by the side of the road. "Put your arms round my neck," I cried. She did so, and the next moment we plunged into the bushes. I heard a wing snap, and the car seemed to mount a little into the air; then we stopped at a nasty angle, for the off hind wheel was yet in the channel. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, still grasping the wheel, I looked down at my left shoulder. "I love Harris tweeds," said the girl quietly. "It's just as well, isn't it?" All things considered, it was. Her nose was embedded in the cloth about two inches above my left breast-pocket. In silence I kissed her hair four times. Then: "I confess," I said, that the real blue-black hair has always been a weakness of mine. At that she struggled to rise, but the angle was against her, and, honestly, I couldn't do much. The next minute she had found the edge of the wind-screen--fortunately open at the time of the accident--and had pulled herself off me. "My hair must have been--" "Almost in my mouth," I said. "Exactly. I have been--" "What?" "Licking it, my dear. It's awfully good for hair, you know--imparts a gloss-like and silky appearance. Besides, since--" "Idiot!"