"How was the General when you saw him last?" On and on like a whirligig went the silly, futile thoughts, while before me the two heads wagged, and nodded, and tossed, and a laughing conversation was kept up with apparently equal enjoyment on both sides. Delphine had a child's capacity for enjoying the present; even when the car pulled up and she alighted before the door of the "Parish Hall," the smile was still on her face. The little treat had blown away the cobwebs; she was refreshed and ready, if not precisely anxious, for work. "Thanks awfully, Ralph. That was as good as a hundred tonics! I do think a car is a glorious possession." Then she looked at me and nodded encouragingly. "Now it is your turn! It's ever so much more fun in front. Ralph will be quite proud of sitting beside your bonnet!" So after all neither of us said it, and I should never have the satisfaction of knowing if he had meant-- He opened the door, and I meekly got out and took the other seat. What was the use of making a fuss? Delphine disappeared behind the oak door, the engines whirled, and we were off again, steaming out of the village, and down the sloping road which led to the lovely sweep of the heath, the speed steadily increasing, until we were travelling at a good forty miles an hour. Four milestones flashed past before either of us spoke a word; then in desperation I made a beginning. "She needs change, doesn't she? It's quite touching to see how it cheers her up." "She?" he repeated. "Who?" He turned his eyes on me as he spoke, and they were absolutely, genuinely blank. Astounding as it appeared, he really did not know. "Delphine, of course! Who else could I mean?" "Oh-oh. Yes, I had forgotten all about her." He might have been talking of a fly that for a moment had buzzed by his side. The cruel indifference of his manner stung me into quick retort. "Yet you seemed very kind--you _were_ very kind to her a few minutes ago. Do you always forget so quickly?" A movement of his hand reduced the speed of the engine. We had left the village far behind, and the wide high road stretched before us like a brown ribbon, sloping gently up and down the grassy slopes. For miles ahead there was not a soul in view. Ralph Maplestone stared at me and I stared back at him. Seen close at hand, his plain face had an attraction of its own. It looked strong and honest; its tints were all fresh and clean, speaking of a healthy, out-of-door life. No little child had ever clearer eyes. They didn't look so stern as I had believed. "What have I to remember? Delphine came for a drive; I'm glad she enjoyed it, but it is over. Why should I think of her any more?" "Oh, no reason at all!" I said testily. I felt testy, as if from a personal injury. "Only when one has a friend, it is agreeable to believe that out of sight is not immediately out of mind. But, of course, I am a woman. Women's memories are proverbially longer than men's."