wheel, a sort of unconscious habit he had. Then he bethought
himself. "Oh, but I suppose you'll drive," he added quickly,
shifting over, rather abashed at having taken his place in the
driver's seat without being asked. "You see, I'm so accustomed to
being here."

"I believe I will drive," answered Cora. "I have great faith in the
obedience of my machine. It knows my hand."

"I shouldn't wonder," agreed the young, man. "I do believe that
motor-cars can almost be made to think--under the guidance of very
gentle but sure hands."

Paul looked very handsome, Cora thought. He was the type she always
admired--a youth with a bronze complexion--a straight, athletic
figure, almost classic, Cora decided. He cranked up for her,
re-entered the car, and they rolled from the garage. Once out on the
country road Cora threw in the high gear and fed the gasolene with a
judicious hand, controlling the spark admirably.

"A fine machine!" exclaimed Paul, noting how perfect was the rhythm
of action as it thrilled out beneath them.

"There are friends of mine," said Cora suddenly as a runabout,
containing two young then, came into sight. Ed Foster and Walter
Pennington raised their caps as they dashed by, but they did not go
so quickly but that Cora noticed an expression of surprise on their
faces.

"Oh, yes, I know them also," remarked Paul. "I've had that machine