Sallie nestled into the deep leather-cushioned seat, somewhat to the far side. A sharp wind lifted the curls from under the despised turban and sent them flying across the man’s face. He stole a moment to turn and gaze.
“You’re a winner!” he murmured.
Sallie scarcely heard him. She was lost in the intoxication of tearing motor and racing March wind. Never had she experienced anything like it. And gradually the turmoil of it soothed her own. She closed her eyes.
When they opened it was to meet a swift turn of road, the houses mounted to a higher level and before them, far into the star-eyed night, a stretch of wooded walk through which the Hudson shimmered.
“What’s this?” she asked, hand grasping his coat sleeve as if to stop the onward rush.
“Lafayette Boulevard. You’ve been up here—haven’t you?”
“Never!”
[261]
] He slowed down, eyes mocking her.
“Honestly! I’ve never even heard of it.”
“Good Lord!” he whistled and stared at her.