"Good Lord!" said Jack. "Can't I do anything? Let me get at the machinery."
"You can do nothing!" said Kitty, sharply.
For a long while neither said a word. The car sped along with a querulous, eerie whirr that rose to a clattering snarl as it hurtled down hill. The cold air stung their faces; the hedges were level, black walls on either side; now and again they flew through a sleeping village; and the dogs who ran out to bark, turned and fled yelping from this sinister, rushing monster. Kitty's firm hand steered them steadily, save when the car jerked snarling down hill, out of control; now and again she set the whistle hooting. Jack sat with his mind in a whirl of fears of what might befall her. Little by little the oppression of a nightmare began to weigh upon them as a binding spell.
Jack broke it by withdrawing his arm from around her, and lighting a cigar; he did not slip his arm back.
Presently she said softly, "Hold me again, Jack, I feel safer"—his arm slipped round her—"I feel—I feel—as if some dreadful beast were carrying us away."
She looked infinitely childlike; and he gripped her closer.
"Poor aunt Anne, she'll think we've had a smash, as indeed we may," she said presently.
"By Jove, yes; they'll be hunting the neighbourhood for us!" said Jack.
"As for Lord Malmesford, he'll think you've run away with me," said Kitty.
"Oh, nonsense!" said Jack, uneasily.