"This is mine," he remarked, coming to a halt in front of a rather battered four-seater. "She's not a beauty to look at, but she can go like the devil."
Before Nancy could offer any comment a young man in dirty overalls wriggled out from beneath a neighbouring limousine.
Colin greeted him with a friendly nod.
"I am going to take her out after all, Davis," he said. "I shall be back some time this evening, and if you're here we can run over her together."
Mr. Davis wiped his hands upon a piece of cotton waste and glanced appreciatively at Nancy. "Very good, sir," he replied; "but, if you'll excuse my saying so, I shouldn't drive too fast—not if you've got a lady with you. The steering gear's none too sound."
Colin laughed. "You needn't pay any attention to Davis," he observed to Nancy. "Like all people who have to give credit, he's a hopeless pessimist."
He opened the door for her, and, climbing up alongside into the driving seat, switched on the spark and the lamps.
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, as though to disclaim further responsibility, Mr. Davis bent down over the starting-handle. After several ineffectual jerks the engine suddenly began running, and the next moment Colin was backing his way out through the open doorway.
Sitting beside him, with her chin buried comfortably inside her collar, Nancy made no attempt at conversation. From the hint dropped by Mr. Davis she concluded that Colin was the sort of driver whom it was safer not to disturb with unnecessary chatter, an opinion which had been fully confirmed some time before they arrived at Sloane Square.
He drove, indeed, at a pace which would have proved highly distressing to any one of a timid disposition. Fortunately for Nancy, however, her nerves were in excellent order, and after the first half mile had been safely negotiated she began to find that the sensation of missing buses by a quarter of an inch was not without a peculiar and exhilarating charm.