“Something’s rather wrong,” he said “I didn’t think she was running very well this morning. I say, I am sorry, Helen!”

“What is it?” she asked. A note of anxiety had crept into her voice, for this car was the pride of her heart.

“I don’t know,” said Maurice, and groped in the engine. “Can’t see. Have you a torch?”

“Left hand—er—I expect there is one in one of the pockets,” Helen said, clinging to her role of helpless female. Maurice came and looked for it, and drew it forth triumphantly.

“Good! Now we shall see!”

He clicked the switch of the torch, and it was evident that they were not going to see at all. A frown was gathering in Helen’s eyes.

“Of all the rotten luck!” said Maurice disgustedly. “The battery has run down.”

And then something seemed to snap in Helen. She forgot all about her pose, and cast the rugs from her, and stepped out into the road.

“That,” she said crisply, “is what comes of letting that fool of a chauffeur mess about with the car. I might have known it.”

Maurice stood transfixed with amazement, staring at this suddenly transformed woman. Helen did not see his surprise. She flung off her coat and hat and demanded a match.

“Just come and hold it for me,” she said. “In all the years I’ve driven a car never once have I come out without a spare battery. Hold the match there, will you?”

Meekly he obeyed. He hid his astonishment, for fear of chasing this old, dear Helen away. A wild elation filled him; he wanted to hug her as he had never wanted to hug the immaculate woman who had taken her place.

She dived into the car, and her capable hands groped here and there. Out she came, and strode to the switchboard. Then she came back again, and once more disappeared into the bonnet. When she again emerged her hair was awry, and a large smudge of grease adorned one cheek.

“No good, I can’t see!” she said curtly. “Give me a cigarette!”

MAURICE began to shake with inward merriment; he handed Helen his cigarette-case, and watched her sit down on the step of the car. Helen smoked rather violently for a minute.

“This is the most putrid luck,” she presently announced. “Any ideas?”

“One only. Push the car to the side of the road.”

“Righto!” said Helen, and got up.

They pushed the car as he suggested, and all the time Maurice thought: “Helen has come back!”

“Now,” he said, “I think you'd better tuck yourself up inside while I go to the nearest village and get some sort of a convenience.”

Helen stared at him in the light of the car lamps.

“What did you say I’d better do?”

“Get inside, and keep warm. You’ll be quite—”

“Now, I ask you, Maurice, does that elegant little scheme sound like me?” she demanded.

Maurice spoke deliberately.

“It sounds remarkably like the you I’ve known for the past three weeks," he said.