it not four feet away from me.  He had his cap on and his leather coat, and I saw at once that I had made a terrible mistake.  Before I could even think what to do he saw my predicament and leaped out, insisting that I—­should take his place.  I murmured something about being sorry and tried to move away, but he caught my arm and wouldn’t let go.  He was so eager and excited and made such a scene that I allowed myself to be bundled into the car rather than attract everybody’s attention—­for there was a Packard and a waterless Knox looking on.  Bert started up the engine and I was just engaging the low-gear clutch, when Morty gave me such a look that I stopped dead.  It seemed too horribly mean to rob him of his afternoon—­besides, when you’ve been awfully in love with a man—­and his face—­

“Mr. Truslow,” I said, speaking loud, so as not to be drowned by the engine, “if you promise on your honor not to speak a single word to me—­you can come, too!” I had to say it twice before he understood, and then, didn’t he bound in!  I suppose it was an awfully reckless thing to do, for whatever they say about absence making the heart grow fonder, sitting close is lots more dangerous, and I began to feel all my pride and determination oozing out of my shoes.  It came over me in waves that I loved him better than ever, and I stole little sidewise peeps at him —­and every peep seemed to make it worse.  He belonged to a splendid type—­I had to admit that, even if I didn’t forgive him —­big, clear-eyed, ruddy and broad-shouldered—­and there was something tremendously compelling and manly about him that seemed to sweep me off my feet.  This only made me hate him more, for I didn’t see how I could ever love anybody else, and it’s dreary for a girl to have only a single man in her life and not even be on speaking terms with that one!  It leaves her with no outlook or anything, and one might as well be dead right off.  But you can’t be long miserable in a bubble, even if you try—­that is, if it is running nicely, developing full power and you have a fat, rich spark—­and though I looked as cold and distant as I could, secretly I think I never was so happy in my life.

Morty behaved properly for quite a while—­much longer, in fact, than I could have believed possible.  Then he brought out a pencil and began to write things on the beck of an envelope.  I never moved an eyelash and didn’t seem to understand at all till he handed me what he had written.  I promptly tore it up and threw it away.  But he found another envelope and did it again, this time holding to it tight and moving it before my eyes.  I nearly ditched the car, for I was running with an open throttle and the grade was in our favor.  Then he bent over and kissed my cloth sleeve.  I pulled up short and gave him his choice of either getting out or comporting himself like a civilized being.  He indicated that he would try to do the latter, though be looked awfully savage and folded his arms, and moved as far away from me as the seat would allow.  I didn’t care, besides he was safer like that than when he was nice—­and so I just looked cross, too, and speeded up.