“Won’t budge?” she repeated. “But you must make it budge, Geoffrey. We can’t--we can’t _stay_ here! What’s gone wrong with it?” Burke launched out into a string of technicalities which left Jean with a confused feeling that the mechanism of a motor must be an invention of the devil designed expressly for the chastening of human nature, but from which she succeeded in gathering the bare skeleton fact that something had gone radically wrong with the car’s running powers. Her apprehensions quickened. “What are we to do?” she asked blankly. “Make the best of a bad job--and console each other,” he suggested lightly. She frowned a little. It did not seem to her quite the moment for jesting. “Don’t be ridiculous, Geoffrey,” she said sharply. “We’ve got to get back _somehow_. What can you do?” “I can’t do anything more than I’ve done. Here we are and here we’ve got to stay.” “You know that’s impossible,” she said, in a quick, low voice. He looked at her with a sudden devil-may-care glint in his eyes. “You never can tell beforehand whether things are impossible or not. I know I used to think that heaven on earth was--impossible,” he said slowly. “I’m not so sure now.” He drew a step nearer her. “Would you mind so dreadfully if we had to stay here, little Miss Prunes-and-Prisms?” Jean stared at him in amazement--in amazement which slowly turned to incredulous horror as a sudden almost unbelievable idea flashed into her mind, kindled into being by the leaping, half-exultant note in his tones. “Geoffrey------” Her lips moved stiffly, even to herself, her voice sounded strange and hoarse. “Geoffrey, I don’t believe there is anything wrong with the car at all!... Or if there is, you’ve tampered with it on purpose.... You’re not being straight with me----” She broke off, her startled gaze searching his face as though she would wring the truth from him. Her eyes were very wide and dilated, but back of the anger that blazed in them lurked fear--stark fear. For a moment Burke was silent. Then he spoke, with a quiet deliberateness that held something ominous, inexorable, in its very calm. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I’ve not been straight with you. But I’ll be frank with you now. The whole thing--asking you to come here to-day, the moonlight expedition for to-night--everything--was all fixed up, planned solely to get you here. The car won’t run for the simple reason that I’ve put it out of action. I wasn’t quite sure whether or no you could drive a car, you see!” “I can’t,” said Jean. Her voice was quite expressionless. “No? So much the better, then. But I wasn’t going to leave any weak link in the chain by which I hold you.” “By which you hold me?” she repeated dully. She felt stunned, incapable of protest, only able to repeat, parrotlike, the words he had just used.