the straps.

"When we get to the fifty-miles-from-the-office stone, which we're going
to do in about five minutes, I can take leave of my bride without having
to observe the landscape except from the front."

"So you're going to take leave of her," observed his passenger. She did
not seem at all disturbed. As the car moved on she drew back her veil
from its position over her face, leaving her head covered only by a
close-fitting motoring bonnet of dark green, from within which her face,
vivid with the colouring born of many days driving with and without
veils, met without flinching the spatter of rain the fitful April wind
sent drifting in under the edge of the top. Her black eyelashes caught
the drops and held them.

"Yes, I'm going to say good-bye to her at that stone," repeated Burns.
"She's been the joy of my life for two weeks, and I'll never forget her.
But she couldn't stand for the change of conditions we're going to find
the minute we strike the old place. It's only my wife who can face
those."

"If the bride is to be left behind, I suppose the bridegroom will stay
with her? Together, they'll not be badly off."

Burns laughed. "Ye gods! Is that what I've been--a bridegroom? I'm glad
I didn't realize it; it would have made me act queerer than I have. Well,
it's been a happy time--a gloriously happy time, but--"

He paused and looked down at her for an instant, rather as if he
hesitated to say what was in his mind. He did not know that he had
already said it.

But she knew it, and she smiled at him, understanding--and sympathizing.
"But you are glad you are on your way back to your work," said she. "So
am I."

He drew a relieved breath. "Bless you," said he. "I'm glad you are--if
it's true. It's only that I'm so refreshed by this wonderful fortnight
that I--well--I want to go to work again--work with all my might. I feel
as if I could do the best work of my life. That doesn't mean that I don't
dread to see the first patient, for I do. Whoever he is, I hate the sight
of him! Can you understand?"

She nodded. "It will be like the first plunge into cold water. But once
in--"

"That's it. Of course, if he happened to be lying on my lawn, all mangled
up and calling for me to save his life, I'd welcome the sight of him,
poor chap. But he won't be interesting, like that. He'll be a victim of
chronic dyspepsia. Or worse--she'll be a woman who can't sleep without a
dope. I have to get used to that kind by de