Merkle roused to say, “Is this too fast for you, Miss Knight?”

She laughed nervously.  “N-no.  I’m sorry I woke you.”

After a moment he startled her by inquiring, “Why don’t you marry
Bob Wharton?”

She tore her eyes from the reeling shadows in front and peered at him.

“What makes you think I like him well enough?”

“I don’t.  But he’s the sort you’re looking for, isn’t he?”

She nodded.  “I can’t expect to—­marry a decent man.  I’ve learned that much.”

There was a pause, and then, “It would be a great pity,” he said.

“You’re not complimentary.  Perhaps I’m not so bad as I appear.”

“I didn’t mean that.  It would be too bad, on your account.  I—­like you.  Maybe it’s your beauty that has gone to my head; no man could remain quite sane in your company.”  He turned his tired, bright eyes upon her, and Lorelei stirred uncomfortably.  “You’re quite different to what I first thought you.”

“Oh no!  I’m exactly what you thought.  I’ve seen Mr. Wharton only twice.”

“He’s crazy about you.  He acts wholly upon impulse, of course.  It ought to be easy.”

Merkle inquired the time of his chauffeur, then directed him to turn homeward along the North Shore.

“I sha’n’t be selfish and keep you out any longer, Miss Knight,” he said.  “If you don’t mind I’ll doze on the way in, and try to figure out the next move in this Hammon affair.”

The return trip was another hurtling rush through the night, in a silence broken only by Merkle’s demand for more speed whenever the machine slackened its labor.  The miles wheeled past; the Sound lay to the right.

They were sweeping over a rolling North Shore road when suddenly out of the blackness ahead blazed two blinding headlights.  With startling abruptness they appeared over the crest of a rise; Merkle’s driver swung to the right.  But the road was narrow; a trolley track was under construction, and along the edge of the amasite was strewn a row of steel rails, guarded by occasional red lanterns.  The strange car held to its course; there was a blast of horns, a dazzling instant of intense illumination, then a crash as the inside mud-guards met.  Merkle’s car seemed to leap into the air; there was a report of an exploding tire; Lorelei felt a sickening sense of insecurity, and found herself hanging, bruised and breathless, across the back of the driving-seat.  The automobile was bucking and bumping, as if the pavement had been turned into a corduroy road; then it came to a pause, half in the ditch.  Merkle was jammed into an awkward coil on the floor of the tonneau, but raised himself, swearing softly.  The other car held to its course, and whizzed onward, leaving in its wake a drunken shout of mockery and defiance.

The catastrophe had taken but an instant.  The three were alone, and their machine disabled almost in a breath.  Merkle inquired anxiously if Lorelei were hurt; the chauffeur ran after the offending car, yelling anathemas into the night.  He returned slowly, mopping his face, which had been cut by fragments from the shattered windshield.