never seen Miss Patricia Moore.

I will tell you what was happening!

All the men were out of all the cars, either helping, advising, or
trying to get near enough to do one or both. The chauffeuse herself was
sitting behind her wheel with the manner of a youthful queen on a throne
receiving homage from courtiers. The Grayles-Grice is gray, and she was
dressed in gray to match, a light pearl gray I should say it would be
called. She has a complexion also like pearl, but not gray pearl.
Excitement had given her a bright rosy colour. Her black hair--I don't
know whether excitement makes a girl's hair curl--but anyhow hers was
doing it, in little rings and spirals which fluttered in the breeze and
blew across her cheeks and eyes. By the way, she has the bluest eyes I
ever saw in human head. She was thanking her courtiers charmingly
whenever they came within speaking distance, rolling her "r's" in a
fascinating French fashion she has, and whenever a heated red man would
lift his head from the open bonnet or pop up from under the car she
would remark how _kind_ he was, or how sad she felt that he should be
having all this trouble for _her_! Then other men for whom there was not
room at the bonnet or under the capacious Grayles-Grice envied the hot
red ones, and intimated (in order to get hot and red and awake sympathy
themselves) that they and they alone could find out what was the matter.
I should estimate that at least a dozen men had enlisted under the
voluntary system, while others on the outer ring only waited their turn.

As for the stranded autos (whose number increased as the minutes went
on), ladies young and old who sat desiring the return of their cavaliers
looked as pleased as the wives of Circe's admirers must have looked
while their male belongings were transformed into beasts.

"Why doesn't somebody roll the old thing out of the way and let us go
on?" shrieked one of a carful of school teachers deserted by their
chauffeur. He, from a distance, explained not too patiently that the
trouble was, the thing _wouldn't_ roll. I am pretty sure that not one of
the men engaged was in a hurry for it to budge; for you know as well as
I that all men are deeply romantic at heart, the oldest boys as well as
the youngest boys--or more so. This girl looked like Romance
incarnate--the face that we see in the sunrise and in our dreams--and it
couldn't be often that most of these good commonplace chaps came in for
such an adve