Within a few days, Isabel was the happy possessor of an engagement ring with a diamond in it—­a larger, brighter stone than she had ever dreamed of having.  Colonel Kent had also readily promised the automobile, though he did not tell Allison that he should be obliged to sell some property in order to acquire a really fine car.  It took until the end of the month to make the necessary arrangements, but on the afternoon of the thirtieth, a trumpeting red monster, bright with brass, drew up before the Kent’s door, having come out from town on its own power.

As the two men had taken a brief tour over the wonderful roads of France, with Allison at the wheel, he felt no hesitation in trying an unfamiliar car.  The old throb of exultation came back when the monster responded to his touch and chugged out of the driveway on its lowest speed.

He turned back to wave his hand at his father, who stood smiling on the veranda, with the chauffeur beside him.  “I’ll get Isabel,” he called, “then come back for you.”

He reached Madame Bernard’s without accident and Isabel, almost wild with joy, ran out of the gate to meet him and climbed in.  Only Rose, from the shelter of her curtains, saw them as they went away.

“Where shall we go?” Isabel asked.  She was hatless and the sun dwelt lovingly upon her shining black hair.

“Back for Dad.  He’s waiting for us.  Do you like it, dear?”

“Indeed I do.  Oh, so much!  It was lovely of him, wasn’t it?  He wouldn’t care, would he, if we took a little ride just by ourselves before we went back for him?”

“Of course not, but we can’t go far and we’ll have to go fast.”

“I love to go fast.  I’ve never been fast enough yet.  I wonder if the Crosbys have got their automobile?”

“I heard so, but I haven’t seen it.  I understand that Romeo is learning to drive it in the narrow boundaries of the yard.”

“What day of the month is it?”

“The thirtieth.  There’s less than three months to wait now, darling—­ then you’ll be mine, all mine.”

“Then this is the day the Crosbys were going to celebrate—­it’s the anniversary of their uncle’s death.  I’m glad we’ve got our automobile.  Can’t we go by there?  It’s only three miles, and I’d love to have them see us go by, at full speed.”

Obediently, Allison turned into the winding road which led to Crosbys’s and, to please Isabel, drove at the third speed.  Once under way, the road spun dustily backward under the purring car, and the wind in their faces felt like the current of a stream.

“Oh,” cried Isabel, rapturously; “isn’t it lovely!”

“I’m almost afraid to go so fast, dear.  If there should be another car on this road, we might collide at some of these sharp turns.”

“But there isn’t.  There’s not another automobile in this sleepy little town, except the Crosbys’.  It isn’t likely that they’re out in theirs now, on this road.”