The Princess Passes

								

creature skimming just out of harm's way.
I now reflected, with a vague sense of self-disgust, that, instead of
being glad to leave the world which had denied me Helen, I had felt
distinctly annoyed at the necessity, had not given a thought to my
lost love, and had been thankful for the mere gift of life without
her.
"I'm so glad you don't think I'm reckless," said Molly, as quietly as
though we had not passed through a crisis; and indeed to this day I do
not believe she would admit that we had.
"I'm really very careful; Jack says I am. He takes tremendous risks
sometimes, or at least it seems so when you're not driving. You'll see
the difference when he's in front."
I refrained from comment, but I had never valued Jack's friendship
less, and I was in the act of concocting a telegram from Locker which
might recall me to London, when from the speed of the Scotch express
we slowed down to a pace which would have been mean even for a donkey.
We continued this rate of progression for a peaceful but all too brief
interval; then in the line of traffic opened a narrow canal which I
hoped might escape Molly's eye. But there was no such luck. She saw;
we leaped into it, raced down it, and before I could have said
"knife," or any other equally irrelevant word of one syllable, we had
left everything else behind.
I expected to be (to put it mildly) as uncomfortable as I had been
before my short respite, yet strange to say, this was not the case. I
did not know what was the matter with me, but suddenly I seemed to be
enjoying myself. The tension of muscles relaxed, as if a string which
had held them tight--like the limbs of a Jumping Jack--had been let
go. I leaned back against the crimson cushions of my seat with a new
and singular sense of well-being. Once, as a volunteer in South
Africa, I had felt the same when, after having a splinter of bone
taken out, under chloroform, I had waked up to be told it was all
over. This wasn't over, but somehow, I didn't want it to be.
We took Putney Bridge at a gulp, and swallowed the long hill to
Wimbledon Common in the fashion of a hungry anaconda; but before we
arrived at this stage a thing happened which unexpectedly raised my
opinion of motor cars. It was in the Fullham Road that we glided close
behind a hansom bowling along at a rattling pace. Traffic on our right
prevented us from passing, and Molly had just remarked how vexing it
was to be kept back by a mere hansom, when plunk! down went the little
nag on his nose. It was one of those tumbles in which the horse
collapses in a limp heap without any sliding, though he had been going
fast downhill, and of course the hansom stopped dead. The whole scene
was as quick as the flashing of a biograph. The driver struggled to
keep his seat, clawing at the shiny roof of the cab; his fare, in a
silk hat and pathetic frock coat, shot from the vehicle like a flying
Mercury, and this time it seemed that nothing could keep us from