Mrs. Craven was a wise woman and could read signs. Moreover, she had known Kate from three years old, upwards. "My dear," she said, "I'm rejoiced at your news. Go and make it up with him."
Kate blushed and laughed. "It isn't that at all, aunt. Or only partly. But I must go."
"There's no train now till mid-day."
"I shall motor down to Carnforth and cut off the 10.38 there."
"If you don't break your neck in the process, you'll land in gaol for excessive speed," said the old lady; "and," she added dryly, "I'm sure you'd prefer even one of those alternatives to staying sensibly here with me, and waiting for a train in the decent course of things. There, run along, Kitty, and get your things on, and I'll go and incite Wagner."
Miss O'Neill went upstairs to her bedroom two steps at a time, and for the moment was minded to drag on any outer clothes that would cover her. But then a thought came to her, and she smiled, and took out from its box a Paris hat that she had never worn before. She pinned this into place with infinite care, covered it and her auburn hair with a capacious motor veil, and hung another veil, which had in it a protective window of talc, over her pretty face. And then she put on a great motor coat. She was very much guarded from the dust and the weather externally, but inside the ugly chrysalis was as spruce a Kitty O'Neill as any man could have sighed after.
Wagner, as usual when he was wanted, had "just gone out" for something. But Kate had an enthusiast's knowledge of her that year's forty-horse car. She saw that both electric and magneto ignitions were switched off, and then she turned on her gasolene, flooded the carburetter, and applied herself to the starting handle. There was a high compression in the engine, but she was strong, and just then she was goaded by something which made her put out just a fraction more (she thought) than the full of her strength. She filled the cylinders with gas. Then she threw in the switch to all the insulators, and the engine started most obediently. She stepped into the driving seat, collected her wraps, threw out the clutch, dropped in the first speed, and let the clutch slide home.
The car drew out, as if it had been pulled by a rope, and Kate flung a last hand wave to Mrs. Craven. Then she got on to the direct drive of the third speed, and checked her throttle to keep down the pace till she was out of the traffic.
"Six-and-twenty miles to Carnforth," she reckoned, "and the train goes through there in just sixty-one minutes from now. Well, I should average thirty-five miles an hour for the run, and that will leave me nice time to find someone to take charge of the car, and buy a ticket to Liverpool for myself."
They pulled out of the village, and Kate pushed up her spark and throttle levers notch by notch. The purr of the motor increased in shrillness. She drove often herself, but seldom at high speeds, and just now, when she got into the long empty stretches of straight, out of sheer exhilaration she let out the great car till it was wheeling along at a good forty miles to the hour. It swayed rather dangerously, but she had no nerves to be ruffled by a trifle like that. The motor was giving out its high note of exultant speed, and she was thrilled with the power she rode.