Then she was in the carriage, alone with the man who was to walk through life at her side. Still the merciful numbness held her. Gaunt, in an unconcerned way, said he thought they had better lunch at the Savoy, and she agreed, not knowing what he meant. He made one or two other trifling remarks concerning the disposal of her luggage, which awaited them at the station. They found the train, and he put her in, walking away himself, and returning with the news that all the trunks were safe, and in the van. He laid upon her lap a pile of magazines and one or two novels. "I hate talking in a train," he remarked. She could have loved him for such marvellous consideration. He had a small bag, stuffed with legal-looking documents, which he diligently perused. Virginia, thus released momentarily from strain, lay back against the cushions. The breeze fluttered into the carriage, sweet with the breath of summer. She tried to rest, and not to think. It was impossible not to think, however. Her thoughts were glued, as it were, to the consideration of this man to whom she was so strangely tied. "He loved me at first sight. He guessed who I was. He got into communication with mother in order to be introduced. He suggested marriage there and then. When will he begin to woo me? What will he tell me? What shall I answer? Shall I be able to help flinching, from letting him see how abjectly afraid I am?" He did not put her to the test. Was it possible that he divined her exhaustion, and respected it? She was still wondering when the non-stop express ran into the terminus. He put her into a taxi while he went and looked after their baggage. Then he rejoined her, and directed the driver to the Savoy Hotel. They secured a table near the window, whence could be seen the waters of the Thames, the endless movement of the traffic on the Embankment and the brilliant flowers of the public gardens. The beauty of it revived Virgie a little. She ate some lunch, drank a glass of champagne, and began to make small, shy comments upon the scene, to which her husband listened tolerantly, but not as though interested. She reflected that she must seem to him altogether young and childish. Her slender grace and charm drew many eyes. As Gaunt glanced about him, he was keenly conscious of this. Presently he leant back with the smile that his mother-in-law hated. "Glad you are pleased," said he. "Make the most of it. You are going to be buried in the heart of the country from to-day onward." She laughed lightly. "That will be no hardship," said she. "What I should not like would be to be buried in the heart of London. The walls in London seem as if they must fall down and crush you--so near together. Have you ever felt that?" "I don't like London." "Then that is one taste we share," said she thoughtfully, leaning back to survey him. "How strange that I should know so little of your tastes! We shall have to begin at the very beginning, shall we not?"