“I don’t like to be frustrated in my generous acts; they are so few, according to common report. Well, we’ll leave the car, but it must be drawn off the road.”
When this was accomplished, Weir replaced the rope in his machine. Then he returned to her.
“What now? Do you intend to sit here in the hot sunshine, to say nothing of missing your dinner?”
“That doesn’t concern you.”
Weir shook his head gravely.
“You must be saved from your own folly,” said he.
Before she had realized what was happening, he had opened the door of the runabout, swung her out upon the ground and was marching her towards his own machine. Stupefaction at this quick, atrocious deed left her an automaton; and before she had fully regained her control they were speeding towards San Mateo, she at his side.
“This is outrageous!” she gasped.
Steele Weir did not speak until they entered town.
“Where is your home?” he asked.