Though power always seemed ample on the highway, the Jaguar  XF’s engine performance eroded slightly as the miles piled up; most long-term test subjects clock in slightly stronger at 40,000 miles. In our initial test, the Jag sprinted to 60 mph in 5.1 seconds and to 100 in 11.8, covered the quarter-mile in 13.6 seconds at 107 mph, and hit 150 mph in 32.1. Before parting ways with the Jaguar, the car hit those same marks in 5.2, 12.2, 13.7 (at 106 mph), and 33.9, respectively. No one could call the latter numbers slow, and we saw small gains on the skidpad (0.89 g versus 0.88) and in braking (155 feet versus 158, excellent for a 4200-pound sedan).

Fuel economy over 40,000 miles was 20 mpg, between the EPA window-sticker predictions—15 mpg city, 23 highway—and a bit better than the government’s 17-mpg combined forecast. The sticker price on our XF’s Monroney was $66,210, an MSRP that included $2200 for the overly intrusive adaptive cruise control, which many of us could easily do without. However, that price is a little irrelevant because Jaguar has since discontinued this particular model. Jaguar XF choices now include two naturally aspirated V-8 models—a 300-hp 4.2 and a 385-hp 5.0-liter—and two supercharged editions: a 470-hp version of the 5.0-liter and the scalded-cat XFR, with 510 horsepower.

Behold the 370Z convertible. Like the 350Z, it derives from a fastback coupe. But this convertible—which originated at Nissan Design America in San Diego—was more thoroughly baked into the new Z’s development program. The result is a design that’s much more integrated, much less a slab-sided afterthought.

In addition to its good looks, the new convertible is also easier to live with. The seating position is a little higher than before, providing a better view of what’s going on ahead. (Being in the command center in the previous Z-vertible was like sitting in a foxhole.) With the top up, the view straight astern is also improved, though here the distinction is academic, and as with so many convertibles, the rear-quarter sightlines are blind.

As you’d expect, the top is power operated—one switch does it all. It clamps itself to the windshield header with a resounding whack—a little too resounding, maybe, which also goes for the hard tonneau when the top stows itself. On the other hand, it’s at the high end of the cloth-top quality scale: nicely lined and better than many at damping wind noise.