Down the turnpike she steered the big machine, confident in her
ability to manage it. There were few autos out, and the highway was
almost deserted. Her pretty Shaker hood, which had lately come home
from Madam Julia's, was unbound, and the loose, chiffon strings flew
out in the wind like long-legged birds. Turning into a broad avenue,
Cora realized that she was on the road leading to the garage where
she had met Paul Hastings, the handsome chauffeur who had given her
such valuable information about her car.
"I must see about getting the mud guard fixed," she reflected, for
the temporary brace that Ed had made, though it had kept the affair
in place until the day previous had now come loose. "And this is a
good time to have it attended to," thought the girl.
Paul Hastings was in the little front office. He smiled pleasantly
at the flushed girl as she told her needs, but somehow he seemed
dejected--as if something had happened. Even Cora, comparative
stranger that she was to him, could not help inquiring the cause of
his trouble.
"Is--is there anything the matter?" she asked hesitatingly.
"Oh--not much. Only I--er--I have just ex experienced quite a loss,
and it makes me--blue.
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