Perhaps there would be mistletoe. . . . Suppose he found
himself alone with Myra beneath the mistletoe bough? Suppose he kissed
her? Suppose she turned upon him with her dignified little air and
reproached him, saying he had no right? Suppose he said, "_Myra! will
you give me the right?_" . . .
No wonder that the car seemed slow to the lover's mind; no wonder that
every fresh jerk and strain deepened the frown on his brow. The road was
strewn with rough, sharp stones; but in another mile or two they would
be on a smooth high-road once more. If only they could last out those
few miles!
[Sidenote: A Puncture]
Bang! A sharp, pistol-like noise rent the air, a noise which told its
own tale to the listening ears. A tyre had punctured, and a dreary
half-hour's delay must be faced while the youthful chauffeur repaired
the damage. The passengers leaped to the ground, and exhausted
themselves in lamentations. They were already behind time, and this new
delay would make them later than ever. . . . Suddenly they became aware
that they were cold and tired--shivering with cold. Peg looked down at
her boots, and supposed that there were feet inside, but as a matter of
sensation it was really impossible to say. Margaret's nose was a cheery
plaid--blue patches neatly veined with red. Jack looked from one to the
other and forgot his own impatience in anxiety for their welfare.
"Girls, you look frozen! Cut away up to that house, and ask them to let
you sit by the fire for half an hour.
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