"I am terribly, hopelessly sorry—but I knew that it was true," he said solemnly.
At this moment along the drive came the new gardener wheeling a barrow of fresh mold, his rake and hoe lying across it. "Palmer!" Pauline cried.
The man let fall the barrow as if he had been cut with a whip lash. He looked up and for an instant his dazed eyes seemed to brighten. Then he picked up the barrow as if no one had spoken and went on.
Pauline followed him.
"Bring out the roadster," she called over her shoulder, and, as she stopped beside the gardener. The garage men, bewildered, but used to the kindly vagaries of their pretty employer, sent the machine down driveway.
"Can you drive an automobile, Palmer?" asked Pauline.
This time the man's eyes did not brighten. He looked at her respectfully, but dully. She drew him to the car and repeated the question. He only grinned foolishly and kept on shaking his head.
"Wait," she said, and, running back to the house, reappeared directly wearing her hat and flowing white wrap. "Come, Palmer, you must drive me to the wedding," she declared.
She made him get into the car and take the wheel. As she got in beside him, his hands fumbled aimlessly with the lever.
"Palmer! Palmer!" she dinned his forgotten name into his ears. "Don't you remember the race, the road, the flying cars, the speed, the speed! Don't you remember the man who was in the lead—the man the crowd cheered for? That was you, Palmer, the greatest of all the drivers."