She regarded him through blurry eyes.
"What must you think of me?"
He felt for her hand underneath the lap-robe.
"Among other things," he said, "I think that your eyes exactly match the violets I motored out to get for you this morning at my place ten miles up the Hudson."
"When did you go, dear?"
"Before you were up. We were back before ten, in spite of a spark-plug that gave us some trouble."
"Oh," she said.
The figure at the wheel squirmed to be off. She lay back faint against the upholstery.
"To think," she said, "that you should care for me!"
"My own dear girl!"