Our escort swore again. His self-control, sufficient when all was going smoothly, had quite deserted him. I stared at him, trying to realize that this was the charming young man I had met at the Lafayette less than three hours ago.
"This is an infernal mess," he exclaimed at last. "We're in some sort of marsh! The mud's a foot deep!"
He continued to pull and tug and twist and swear, while the car responded with eager throbs of its willing heart, but with lagging wheels. At last, however, we were through the worst of the marsh and out into a wider roadway, and just as we began to go more smoothly there was a sudden, loud report. The car swerved. A series of oaths poured from Dillon's lips as he stopped the car and got out in the mud to inspect the damage.
"Cast a shoe, dash her," he snarled. "And on a road a million miles from any place. Of all the fool performances this trip was the worst. Why didn't you watch where you were going, Grace? You said you knew the way. You knew I didn't know it."
His last words had degenerated into an actual whine. Looking at him, as he stood in the mud, staring vacantly at us, I had a feeling that, absurd and impossible as it seemed, in another minute the young man would burst into tears! His nerves were in tatters; all self-control, all self-respect, was gone.
Miss Morris did not answer. She merely sat still and looked at him, at first in a white, flaming anger that was the more impressive because so quiet, later in an odd, puzzled fashion, as if some solution of the problem he presented had begun to dawn upon her. He meantime took off his fur coat and evening coat, rolled up his sleeves, and got ready for his uncongenial task of putting on a new tire. I took the big electric bull's-eye he handed me, and directed its light upon his work. By the time the new tire was on, his light evening shoes were unrecognizable, his clothes were covered with mud, his face was flushed with exertion and anger, and the few words he spoke came out with a whine of exhausted vitality. At last he stopped work, straightened up, reached into the car, and fumbled in the pocket of his overcoat. Then he walked around to the side of the car farthest from us, and bent forward as if to inspect something there. I started to follow him, but he checked me.
"Stay where you are," he said, curtly. "Don't need you."
A moment later he came back to us, opened the door, and motioned us into the tonneau. In the short interval his whole manner had changed. He had stopped muttering and swearing; he seemed anxious to make us comfortable, and he folded the rugs over our knees with special care, casting at Miss Morris a series of anxious glances, which she quietly ignored. Before he got in and took his place at the wheel he made a careful inspection of the other tires, and several times, as I changed the position of the light to fall more directly upon them, he smiled and thanked me. Miss Morris was evidently impressed by his change of mood. Quietly and seriously she studied him.
He was directly beside me now, bending over the rear right tire, and suddenly, as his bare arm came into view, I saw on it something that made me start and look at it again. I had not been mistaken. I glanced at Miss Morris. Her eyes were on Dillon, but in her place on the left side of the car she commanded a view of only his head and shoulders. As if annoyed by a flicker in the light, I lifted the bull's-eye into my lap and began to fumble with the snap, turning off the light. The little manœuver had the effect I expected. Mr. Dillon stood up at once, and his bare arm came helpfully forward.
"What's the matter?" he asked, trying to take the bull's-eye. "Let me see."