"Cynthia—you're not going to punish me because I was faithful— Don't you suppose I tried to get some one in my place?"
"Did you?"
"The day I first rode in this car with you. And then—I stopped trying—"
"Why?"
"Because I realized that if some one came in my place I'd have to go away and never see you again—and I couldn't do that I had to be near you, dear girl—don't worry, he can't hear, the motor's too noisy—I had to be where I could see that little curl making a question mark round your ear—where I could hear your voice—I had to be near you even if to do it I must break my heart by marrying you to another man. I loved you. I love you now—"
A terrific crash interrupted. Dolefully the chauffeur descended from the car to make an examination. Dolefully he announced the result.
"Busted right off," he remarked. "Say, I'm sorry. I'll have to walk back to the garage at Sunbeam and—and I'm afraid you'll have to jest sit here until I come back."
He went slowly down the road, and the two sat in that ancient car in the midst of sandy desolation.
"Cynthia," Minot cried. "I worship you. Won't you—"
The girl gave a strange little cry.