The afternoon had been all that a summer afternoon on the brown highlands can be, and the powerful touring car had swept them from mile to mile over the dun hills like an earth-skimming dragon whose wing-beat was the muffled, explosive thud of the motor.
Through most of the miles Elinor had given herself up to silent enjoyment of the rapture of swift motion, and Ormsby had respected her mood, as he always did. But when they were on the high hills beyond the mining-camp of Megilp, and he had thrown the engines out of gear to brake the car gently down the long inclines, there was room for speech.
"This is our last spin together on the high plains, I suppose," he said. "Your mother has fixed upon to-morrow for our return to town, hasn't she?"
Elinor confirmed it half-absently. She had been keyed up to face the inevitable in this drive with Ormsby, and she was afraid now that he was going to break her resolution by a dip into the commonplaces.
"Are you glad or sorry?" he asked.
Her reply was evasive.
"I have enjoyed the thin, clean air and the freedom of the wide horizons. Who could help it?"
"But you have not been entirely happy?"
It was on her lips to say some conventional thing about the constant jarring note in all human happiness, but she changed it to a simple "No."
"May I try if I can give the reason?"