Eventually, however, the engines began to revolve and the
machine moved reluctantly out into the drive.
"The battery must be run down," said Billie.
"All right," said Bream.
Billie cast a glance of contempt at him out of the corner of her eyes.
She hardly knew why she had spoken to him except that, as all
automobilists are aware, the impulse to say rude things about their
battery is almost irresistible. To an automobilist the art of
conversation consists in rapping out scathing remarks either about the
battery or the oiling-system.
Billie switched on the head-lights and turned the car down the dark
drive. She was feeling thoroughly upset. Her idealistic nature had
received a painful shock on the discovery of the yellow streak in
Bream. To call it a yellow streak was to understate the facts. It was a
great belt of saffron encircling his whole soul. That she, Wilhelmina
Bennett, who had gone through the world seeking a Galahad, should
finish her career as the wife of a man who hid under beds simply
because people shot at him with elephant guns was abhorrent to her.
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