A moment later they stood together on the platform of the Sunbeam station, while the brief little train disappeared indignantly in the distance.
"You shouldn't have made me do that!" cried the girl in dismay. "I'm always doing things on the spur of the moment—things I regret afterward—"
"I know. You explained that to me once. But you can also do things on the spur of the moment that you're glad about all your life. Oh—good morning, Barney Oldfield."
"Good morning," replied the rustic chauffeur with gleeful recognition. "Where's it to this time, mister?"
"Jacksonville. And no hurry at all." Minot held open the door and the girl stepped into the car.
"The gentleman is quite mistaken," she said to the chauffeur. "There is a very great hurry."
"Ages of time until luncheon," replied Minot blithely, also getting in. "If you were thinking of announcing—something—then."
"I shall have nothing to announce, I'm sure. But I must be in Jacksonville before that train. Father will be furious."
"Trust me, lady," said the chauffeur, grinding again at his hooded music-box. "I've been doing stunts with this car since I saw you last. Been over a hundred miles from Sunbeam. Begins to look as though Florida wasn't going to be big enough, after all."
He leaped to the wheel, and again that ancient automobile carried Cynthia Meyrick and the representative of Lloyds out of the town of Sunbeam. But the exit was not a laughing one. The girl's eyes were serious, cold, and with real concern in his voice Minot spoke: