With the reins between her fingers, and the responsibility on her of driving through the storm and darkness, some of her courage and self-respect returned, but not until she had flung that wretched cake far from her into the darkness.
"I shall hate orange cakes all the rest of my life," she thought.
"It was kind of Lady Kitson to take you in out of the storm," remarked her father absently.
"Was it ?" she questioned doubtfully.

"I suppose it was.

But--another time I--I would rather stay out in the very worst storm that ever was," she added mentally.

"Nothing _could_ be worse than what I have gone through, and what I shall feel whenever I remember it.".