Six hundred miles an hour, to old-time travelers, might seem fast. High up in the air, however, some miles above the earth with nothing beneath but the Atlantic Ocean, it seems a moderate pace. There are none of the usual landmarks to gauge one's speed; no telegraph poles, houses, or towns. The few ships one passes, seen far below, are movable objects with no definite relation to your own progress. Also, in a practically air tight conveyance no wind can beat against your face.
While three hours may seem brief for a transatlantic passage it must be remembered that the time Cyrus lost in going Eastward he gained in going West. The surface of our little earth moves eastward about a thousand miles an hour; so, with North America rushing forward to meet him he could easily make the journey of five thousand miles and more in the four hours, and almost without hurrying. There is a startling difference in celerity between an automobile and a yoke of oxen; more still between a steamship and a cannon-ball: and Cyrus' device was capable of any speed that he dared to travel. The only delays were in starting off, and in approaching his own Coast. Once above Massachusetts, however, he could easily find Longfields. The landmarks were familiar.
During this journey very little conversation took place between his passenger and himself. Sitting on the floor in front of him, her shoulders between his knees, he could not see her face. She made no acknowledgment of his speeches and gave no answer to any questions. He was correct in his belief that she was both alarmed and angry. But he did not know at the time that her anger far exceeded her alarm. This he realized, however, when he helped her from the car at the door of her aunt's house in Longfields.
For a moment she leaned against the door, weak, trembling, dazed, her hair disarranged, her cheeks hot. No words had been spoken during the last two hours. This long silence he was the first to break.
"You will forgive me, Ruth, won't you?"
It was too dark to see each other's faces, but this time had her eyes met his there would be nothing to conceal. Her anger and her dislike were deep and sincere. She answered in a low tone, but the tone and manner revealed a repugnance of whose existence there could be no doubt.
"Do not speak to me again; ever. Do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear."
"I mean it."
With a quivering hand she turned the knob, entered the house and shut the door behind her.