XVIII
THE next day he brought the runabout to the door and honked once—and waited.
Eleanor coming down the path stopped—and glanced at the car. She quickened her steps, a look of happy surprise in her face.
“You are going to drive yourself!”
“Trust me—can’t you?” said Richard.
She got in with a sigh of content. “There are always people!” she said, “and people and people!—till you can’t think!” She threw out her hands in a whimsical gesture.
“Well—you can think now!... No one to hinder!”
They took the road to the open country. And she rested back beside him. He could feel her quiet contentment—though she did not speak—not even when they left the open highway and travelled a rougher road that skirted the hills and came at last to the end of a grass-grown cart-path half-way up the hill. He turned the nose of the car a little one side.
“As far as we go,” he said quietly.
She got out with a smile. “Farther than last time—isn’t it?” She looked about her happily.