discontent and sordidness and struggle. For a moment she closed her eyes,
but opened them again to behold the transformed image of herself
reflected in the windshield to confirm the illusion--if indeed it were
one! The tweed coat seemed startlingly white in the sunlight, and the
woman she saw, yet recognized as herself, was one of the fortunately
placed of the earth with power and beauty at her command! And she could
no longer imagine herself as the same person who the night before had
stood in front of the house in Warren Street. The car was speeding over
the smooth surface of the boulevard; the swift motion, which seemed to
her like that of flying, the sparkling air, the brightness of the day,
the pressure of Ditmar's shoulder against hers, thrilled her. She
marvelled at his sure command over the machine, that responded like a
live thing to his touch. On the wide, straight stretches it went at a mad
pace that took her breath, and again, in turning a corner or passing
another car, it slowed down, purring in meek obedience. Once she gasped:
"Not so fast! I can't stand it."

He laughed and obeyed her. They glided between river and sky across the
delicate fabric of a bridge which but a moment before she had seen in the
distance. Running through the little village on the farther bank, they
left the river.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Oh, for a little spin," he answered indulgently, turning into a side
road that wound through the woods and suddenly stopping. "Janet, we've
got this day--this whole day to ourselves." He seized and drew her to
him, and she yielded dizzily, repaying the passion of his kiss, forgetful
of past and future while he held her, whispering brokenly endearing
phrases.