“Ven why not?”
“Because, because … oh, I don’t know. I wish you’d stop talking about it.”
The machine rushed on. Once more they were running along the southern shore. A hundred yards before the forking of the roads, Lord Hovenden broke silence. “Will you marry me?” he asked.
“No,” said Irene.
Lord Hovenden turned the nose of his machine to the left. The road climbed and twisted, the wind of their speed abated.
“Stop,” said Irene. “You’ve taken the wrong turn again.”
But Hovenden did not stop. Instead, he pressed down the accelerator. If the car got round the corners it was more by a miracle than in obedience to the laws of Newton or of nature.
“Stop!” cried Irene again. But the car went on.
From the hill-top they looked down once more upon the lake.
“Will you marry me?” Lord Hovenden asked again. His eyes were fixed on the road in front of him. Rapturously, triumphantly he smiled. He had never felt happier, never more daring, more overflowing with strength and power. “Will you marry me?”