"It's all right," I repeated triumphantly.

"They're out of the race--for awhile, at least, and not hurt, that I could see.

Just plain, old-fashioned mad.

Don't look like that, Beryl!" I slowed the car more.

"You're glad, aren't you?
And you _will_ marry me, dear ?" She leaned back panting a little from the strain of the last half-hour, and did things to her hat.