But instead he said, "Let's go on where we left off on that other hill-top. You'd just suggested, I remember, that we go on reading from our novel. I see you have a book. It'll do. Go ahead. Read, please." And he flung himself down upon the ground.
Elizabeth hesitated a second. Then, "All right," she acquiesced, eyes a-dance again, "let's read. I'd like to! I'll start right in where I left off." She was sitting with her feet tucked under her, turkish fashion, as Vincent had often recalled her in his long day-dreams. "'It shall be prima facie evidence,'" she began, "'of a rate of speed greater than is reasonable and proper, as aforesaid, if a motor vehicle is operated in any way outside of the thickly settled or business part of a city, or a town, at a rate of speed exceeding,' etc., etc."
Vincent didn't care what she read just so he could look and listen. He let her read on and on, for ten, fifteen minutes, for half an hour. They both burst into a peal of merriment when at last she stopped.
"What's it all mean?" he asked.
"That I'm better, as I told you I was," she replied. "That I'm going back to France—with a chauffeur's license, this time, if I read this book thoroughly enough. Oh, you needn't think you're the only one who has conquered!"
