"Where do you want to go? I will set you down at the next village we come to; you can stay there to-night or you can get a trolley to the city."
The question remained unanswered. Several times Ffrench glanced, rather diffidently, at his companion's clear, firm profile, and looked away again without speaking.
"I went out to get my cousin to-day, and my host gave me a couple of highballs," he volunteered, at last. "I don't know what you thought—"
Lestrange twisted his car around a belated farm-wagon.
"How old are you?" he inquired calmly.
"I'm nearly twenty-seven. That's what I thought."
The simpler mind considered this for a space.
"Some men are born awake, some awake themselves, and some are shaken into awakening," paraphrased Lestrange, in addition. "If I were you, I'd wake up; it comes easier and it's sure to arrive anyhow. There is the village ahead—shall I stop?"
"It looks terribly dull," was the doleful verdict.