Kate shrugged her shoulders. "Didn't some sapient person once record that coincidences were the commonest things in life? A minute ago I didn't know whether you were in England, or West Africa, or Grand Canary; and you didn't know or care whether I was alive or dead; and here we meet in the dark on an unnamed roadside in Wales. It's just one of those ordinary, every-day, impossible coincidences, which the vogue of motor cars is making a little more common than usual. I'm glad you're letting business differences sink for the moment."
"I didn't know it was your car."
"Or you'd have bitten off your hand sooner than have touched it?"
He laughed rather dryly. "I'm afraid I should have yielded to the temptation of meddling. You see, internal combustion engines are rather a fad of mine."
"Excellent reason. How long is this ingenious repair going to take?"
"H'm; three coats of seccotine—have to allow each twenty minutes to dry—call it an hour. After that I think if we couple up the union, and put in the spare gasolene your man says he's got, you should go sailing off without a hitch. By the way, I didn't know you motored."
"I'm full of unpleasant surprises."
"Yes, Cascaes, for instance."
"Well, why shouldn't I open up an O'Neill and Craven agency in Las Palmas, pray?"
"No reason whatever. I wasn't referring to Cascaes' business abilities."