"Now we can let her out," said Miss Childe contentedly. "It's such a
relief to feel there's no speed limit," she added, with a ravishing
smile.

As soon as I could trust my voice--

"I shouldn't think your chauffeurs live very long, do they?"

"On the contrary, they grow old in our service."

"I can believe you," said I heartily. "I myself have aged considerably
since we left Highlands."

By this time we had flung through and out of the beechwood, and the car
was storming past stretches of gleaming bracken, all red and gold and
stuck with spreading oak trees that stood sometimes alone, sometimes in
groups of two or three together, and made you think of staring cattle
standing knee-deep in a golden flood.

The car tore on.

"We're coming to where I used to gather the mushrooms," my companion
announced.

"Barefoot?"

"Sometimes."

"Because of the dew?"