The Princess Passes

								

telescoping the vehicle thus suddenly arrested a few feet ahead.
But I reckoned without Molly. Her little gloved hand, and the
high-heeled American toys she had for feet, moved like lightning.
Without any violent wrench, the car stopped apparently in less than
its own length, and as, even thus, we were too close upon the cab,
Molly threw a quick glance behind, then bade Mercédès glide gently
backward.
With the fall of the horse, Jack rose in the tonneau, with the
instinct of protection over Molly. But he said not a word till she had
guided the car to safety, when he gave her a little congratulatory pat
on the shoulder. "Good girl; that was perfect. Couldn't have been
better," he murmured. We waited until we had seen that neither man nor
horse was badly hurt, and then sped on again, with a certain respect
for the motor rankling in my reluctant heart. Comparing its behaviour
with that of an automobile, Hansom's ironically named "Patent Safety"
had not a wheel to stand upon.
When we were clear of Kingston, and winging lightly along the familiar
Portsmouth Road, with its dark pines and purple gleams of heather, I
began to feel an exhilaration scarcely short of treacherous to my
principles. We were now putting on speed, and running as fast as most
trains on the South-Western, yet the sensation was far removed from
any I had experienced in travelling by rail, even on famous lines,
which give glorious views if one does not mind cinders in the eye or
the chance of having one's head knocked off like a ripe apple. I
seemed to be floating in a great opaline sea of pure, fresh air; for
such dust as we raised was beaten down from the tonneau by the screen,
and it did not trouble us. Our speed appeared to turn the country into
a panorama flying by for our amusement; and yet, fast as we went, to
my surprise I was able to appreciate every feature, every incident of
the road. Each separate beauty of the way was threaded like a bead on
a rosary.
Here was Sandown Park, which I had regarded as the goal of a
respectable drive from town, with horses; but we were taking it, so to
speak, in our first stride. Esher was no sooner left behind than
quaint old sleepy Cobham came to view; between there and Ripley was
but a gliding step over a road which slipped like velvet under our
wheels. Then a fringe of trees netted across a blue, distant sea of
billowing hills, and a few minutes later we were sailing under
Guildford's suspended clock.
It was somewhere near the hour of one when Molly brought the car
gently to a standstill by the roadside, and announced that she would
not go a yard further without lunch. The chauffeur successfully took
up the part of butler at a moment's notice, busying himself with the
baskets, spreading a picnic cloth under a shady tree, and putting a
bottle of Graves to cool in a neighbouring brook. Meanwhile Molly was
doing mysterious things with her chafing-dish and several little china