“Please don’t think of it, Cousin Agatha.”
“No? My dear, have you ever been visited by neuralgia?”
“I mean,” explained the child, eagerly and shyly together, “that it didn’t interfere with my good times at all.”
“I understand. Silly girl, why don’t they teach you to say things properly! But I know exactly what you mean.”
“Not really!” A quick dismay chased away the arch gayety.
“And I’m very glad if you had what you would call a good time.”
“Oh, I did! It’s all been delightful,” Lucy contrived to stammer, and then fell to scanning the road, which stretched away for a long half mile ahead of them, white and level.
“A good road for those wretched machines,” observed Miss Herron. “I see one has been along it.” And she pointed to the track of broad tires they were following.
“Wouldn’t a farm wagon leave those marks?”
“Possibly, but——” She rose slightly in her seat, and peered ahead. She laughed aloud as she gathered up her reins and touched the horses into a brisk trot. “This may be the workings of Providence, my dear.”