“I believe it would, but——”
“Oh, I know; never mind Maddison. Leave a note pinned up for him to tell him where you’ve gone in case he’s back before we are. Now, do come; I’m sure it will do you good.”
“It’s awfully kind of you. Very well. I must just run up for my hat and coat. I shan’t be two minutes.”
“Two minutes! I’ll give you five!” adding to himself: “she’s worth waiting for.”
West laughed at Marian’s coat, “which might,” he said, “keep a few flies out,” and wrapped her in rugs, until little of her could be seen save her face, peeping out beneath the natty fur hat which she had tied down with a thick brown veil.
“By Jove, you look like Mother Christmas,” laughed West. “All snug? Right! Forrard!”
“It’s glorious!” she said, as they sped along a short piece of broad, level road. “I don’t wonder men go mad over it.”
“Don’t you ever go mad over things?”
“I? No, I don’t think so. I’ve never come across anything which tempted me quite enough to make me go mad over it. Perhaps I was born hopelessly sane. It must be rather nice to feel real mad sometimes.”
“Yes, it’s intoxicating, just that. Don’t be scared, I’m not going to do it now anyway, but I sometimes feel horribly tempted to turn on full speed, let her rip, put my hands in my pockets and see——”