The big brown car was waiting outside the hedge gate when, nearly as good as her word, Charlotte ran down the path.  She had pulled a long linen coat over her blue morning dress, and a veil floated over her arm.

“Dear me, you all look so correct in your bonnets and caps!  Must I tie up my head, or may I leave off the veil until my hair gets to looking wild?”

“It never looked wild yet that I can recall, so jump in and go as you please.  It’s too hot for caps, and I’ll keep you company,” responded Macauley, from the front seat.  His wife, Martha, sat beside him, swathed in brown from head to foot.  Martha had acquired a motoring costume which she considered matched the car and was particularly smart besides, and she seldom left off any detail, no matter how warm the day.  Martha looked around as Charlotte took her place beside Miss Mathewson on the broad rear seat.  The two swinging seats which equipped the car to carry seven passengers were occupied by Bobby Burns and young Tom Macauley.

“People who have hair like Miss Ruston can go bareheaded where the rest of us have to tie ourselves together to keep from blowing away,” observed Martha.

Her husband laughed.  “I never heard you own quite so frankly before that parts of you were detachable,” said he.

“They’re not!” cried Martha, indignantly.  “But Miss Ruston’s hair is that crisp, half curly sort that stays just where you put it, and mine is so straight and fine that it gets stringy.  It makes all the difference in the world.”

The car moved off.  After a minute it turned a corner and came to a standstill before a house.  Macauley sounded a penetrating horn, and after a minute the door opened and John Leaver came out.

“Come on, Doctor,” called Macauley.  “R.P. has been telephoning in, in the usual fever of haste, to have us get out there.  It seems the place is in order and two patients have arrived.  He wants a doctor, nurse, and photographer on the job at once.  Find a place on the back seat, there?”

Leaver came quickly down the walk.  He looked like a well man now, whether he felt like a well one or not.  He had gained in weight, his face had lost its worn look, his eyes were no longer encompassed by shadows.  The sun was in his eyes as he opened the rear door and prepared to take the one seat left in the car, that beside Charlotte Ruston, who had moved to one side as she saw what was about to happen.  Her shoulder pressed close against that of Miss Mathewson, she left so large a space for the newcomer.

After the first exchange of small talk, it was a silent drive.  Macauley was making haste to obey the summons he had received, and the rush of air past those in the car with him was not conducive to frequent speech.  Soon after they were off Charlotte drew her big white veil over her head and face, and was lost to view beneath its protecting expanse.  One of the veil’s fluttering ends persisted in blowing across Leaver’s breast, quite unnoticed by its owner, whose head did not often turn that way.  The man did not put it aside, but after a time he took hold of it and kept it in his hand, secure from the domineering breeze.