take Pethel aside and say: "Swear to me, on your word of honor as a
gentleman, that you will never again touch the driving-gear, or whatever
you call it, of a motor-car. Otherwise, I shall expose you to the world.
Meanwhile, we shall return to Dieppe by train"? He might flush (for I
knew him capable of flushing) as he asked me to explain. And after? He
would laugh in my face. He would advise me not to go motoring any
more. He might even warn me not to go back to Dieppe in one of those
dangerous railway-trains. He might even urge me to wait until a nice
Bath chair had been sent out for me from England.

I heard a voice (mine, alas!) saying brightly, "Well, here we are!" I
helped the ladies to descend. Tea was ordered. Pethel refused that
stimulant and had a glass of water. I had a liqueur brandy. It was
evident to me that tea meant much to Mrs. Pethel. She looked stronger
after her second cup, and younger after her third. Still, it was my duty to
help her if I could. While I talked and laughed, I did not forget that. But
what on earth was I to do? I am no hero. I hate to be ridiculous. I am
inveterately averse to any sort of fuss. Besides, how was I to be sure that
my own personal dread of the return journey hadn't something to do with
my intention of tackling Pethel? I rather thought it had. What this
woman would dare daily because she was a mother could not I dare
once? I reminded myself of this man's reputation for invariable luck. I
reminded myself that he was an extraordinarily skilful driver. To that
skill and luck I would pin my faith.

What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
But I answered your question a few lines back. Enough that my faith was
rewarded: we did arrive safely in Dieppe. I still marvel that we did.

That evening, in the vestibule of the casino, Grierson came up to