Loder looked at her for a moment, then turned aside. He was not hurt by his rebuff; rather, by an interesting sequence of impressions, he was stirred by it. The pride that had refused Chilcote's help, and the self-control that had refused it graciously, moved him to admiration. He understood and appreciated both by the light of person experience. “The carriage is waiting, sir,” Crapham's voice broke in. Loder nodded, and Eve turned to her maid. “That will do, Marie,” she said. “I shall want a cup of chocolate when I get back--probably at one o clock.” She drew her cloak about her shoulders and moved towards the door. Then she paused and looked back. “Shall we start?” she asked, quietly. Loder, still watching her, came forward at once. “Certainly,” he said, with unusual gentleness. He followed her as she crossed the footpath, but made no further offer of help; and when the moment came he quietly took his place beside her in the carriage. His last impression, as the horses wheeled round, was of the open hall door--Crapham in his sombre livery and the maid in her black dress, both silhouetted against the dark background of the hall; then, as the carriage moved forward smoothly and rapidly, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. During the first few moments of the drive there was silence. To Loder there was a strange, new sensation in this companionship, so close and yet so distant. He was so near to Eve that the slight fragrant scent from her clothes might almost have belonged to his own. The impression was confusing yet vaguely delightful. It was years since he had been so close to a woman of his own class--his own caste. He acknowledged the thought with a curious sense of pleasure. Involuntarily he turned and looked at her. She was sitting very straight, her fine profile cut clear against the carriage window, her diamonds quivering in the light that flashed by them from the street. For a space the sense of unreality that had pervaded his first entrance into Chilcote's life touched him again, then another and more potent feeling rose to quell it. Almost involuntarily as he looked at her his lips parted. “May I say something?” he asked. Eve remained motionless. She did not turn her head, as most women would have done. “Say anything you like,” she said, gravely. “Anything?” He bent a little nearer, filled again by the inordinate wish to dominate. “Of course.” It seemed to him that her voice sounded forced and a little tired. For a moment he looked through the window at the passing lights; then slowly his gaze returned to her face. “You look very beautiful to-night,” he said. His voice was low and his manner unemotional, but his words had the effect he desired. She turned her head, and her eyes met his in a glance of curiosity and surprise.