He proved to be a skillful chauffeur. There was something quite impressive in the nonchalant way he spun the wheel with one hand on a curve. He had a bland disregard for speed laws having learned that few constables had the temerity to stop so princely an equipage. They went through Camp Parole at forty miles an hour, but fortunately without hitting any of the dark-skinned inhabitants of that humble suburb. At the green light which marks the W. B. & A. station they turned sharply and streaked away to the South to the throaty growl of an open exhaust. Their conversation was fitful as needs be on the front seat of a speeding car. But they were entirely friendly. The episode of the bracelet had been forgotten. Both pairs of eyes were hypnotized by the strong path of light on the yellow road before them. The bordering leafage was shown up in a queer chemical green like stage scenery. The moon came up, but what's moonlight to automobilists? The reticent moon disdains to compete with headlights. When they were within a few miles of Absolom's Island, Riever glancing at the clock under the cowl, said: "We've come too fast. I didn't order the boat until 9.45." He took his foot off the accelerator and the big car loafed along. Relieved of the strain, their eyes were free to wander around. All Riever's glances were for Pen's profile. He said abruptly: "You're a funny one! One would think you blamed me for having a lot of money." "Not blame you," said Pen. "Though I think it's unjust somehow. But you didn't make conditions." "Why is it unjust?" "Oh, don't ask me to argue it with you. I've never thought such things out. It's just a feeling I have." "If somebody offered you a fortune would you turn it down?" "Depends upon the condition attached," said Pen calmly. "If there were no conditions." "No, I wouldn't turn it down." "Good!" he said. "All they say against money may be true, but just the same when people make out to despise it they're lying." "No doubt," said Pen. "I like to talk to you," he said. "You're real." "Thanks," said Pen dryly. "What do you think about me, really?" he blurted out. "I don't know," said Pen. "Well, it's true nobody really knows anybody else," he said..... "I wish I could get myself over to you. Since I've known you I've realized more than ever what a lot there is missing in my life. Nobody knows me.... There's a sort of wall cuts me off from everybody." It was very confusing to Pen's ideas to discover that a man could be a black villain and sentimental too. "Oh, I wish he wouldn't!" she thought uncomfortably. Aloud she said rather sharply: "Well, it's your own fault, isn't it?" He chuckled. "I love the way you come back at me," he said. "... I suppose it is my own fault. I ought to climb over the wall. But it's difficult. They put me behind it young." After awhile he said: "It's a great thought, isn't it, to think of having somebody you could be absolutely honest with?"