They rushed on, the gale blew steadily in their faces. The road forked; Lord Hovenden turned the nose of his machine along the leftward branch. They lost sight of the blue water.
“Good-bye, Trasimene,” said Irene regretfully. It was a lovely lake; she wished she could remember what had happened there.
The road began to climb and twist; the wind abated to a mere half gale. From the top of the hill, Irene was surprised to see the blue waters, which she had just taken leave of for ever, sparkling two or three hundred feet below on the left. At the joyous sight Miss Elver clapped her hands and shouted.
“Hullo,” Irene said, surprised. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”
“Taken ve wrong road,” Hovenden explained. “We’re going norf again up ve east side of ve lake. We’ll go right round. It’s too much bore to stop and turn.”
They rushed on. For a long time neither of them spoke. Behind them Miss Elver hooted her greetings to every living creature on the road.
They were filled with happiness and joy; they would have liked to go on like this for ever. They rushed on. On the north shore of the lake the road straightened itself out and became flat again. The wind freshened. Far off on their respective hills Cortona and Montepulciano moved slowly, as they rushed along, like fixed stars. And now they were on the west shore once more. Perched on its jutting peninsula Castiglione del Lago reflected itself complacently in the water. “Pretty good,” shouted Lord Hovenden in the teeth of the hurricane. “By the way,” he added, “wasn’t it Hannibal or somebody who had a battle here? Wiv elephants, or somefing.”
“Perhaps it was,” said Irene.
“Not vat it matters in ve least.”
“Not in the least.” She laughed under her mask.