goaded into leaving him in
the lurch; yet it was plainly such an effort that I could have laughed
aloud. Pilar would have been able to quote paragraph and page of her
Dream-Book.

The worst damage to the car was a broken spring, though something seemed
to have gone wrong also with the ignition in that disastrous bump into the
_caniveau_. They had been where we found them for a couple of hours,
Carmona admitted, without encountering any vehicle or animal to give them
a tow. The first hope had been to stagger on to Manzanares (which
originally they had meant to pass) with a broken spring; but the bee in
the motor's bonnet could not be made to buzz, and in despair, Carmona had
been about to send his chauffeur on foot, in search of some conveyance for
the ladies and their luggage. More hours must have passed, at best, before
the man could have returned to the rescue, and already everybody was
hungry.

The ladies of the Duke's party had to be transferred to the Gloria; and
Dick, with airs of ownership, urged vague and voluble reasons why I should
be their companion in the tonneau. We were the masters of the situation,
and Carmona's face, as he was obliged to take his seat beside the
chauffeur who must steer the car in tow, repaid me for grievous wrongs.

Pilar, not to be outdone in ingenuity by Dick, did for me what I could not
do for myself, in contriving that I should sit next to Monica. Though I
could say nothing for her ears which other ears might not hear, it was a
joy to feel her slight shoulder nestling warm against my arm, to know that
she could not be snatched from me by her mother or Carmona, but that as it
was now, so it must be for many moments, perhaps an hour, to come. There
was also satisfaction to be got from the fact that my enemy, bumping on
behind in his own disabled car (propelled by our generosity and power),
was glaring with malice, envy, and all uncharitableness at my back.

My one regret in these moments which should have been perfect, was that my
prophetic soul hadn't caused me to write a long letter to Monica, which I
might have been able to slip into her hand under cover of rugs and
darkness.

Ropes had to light the lamps before we saw more of Manzanares than an
illusive church spire which kept appearing and disappearing like a
will-o'-the-wisp. But the petrol held out, and the Gloria's breathing was
regular, despite the weight she had to tow over ruts and across gutters.
Once, however, Ropes