She avoided a direct answer. “The right man is always born too late or too early; or else he's wasting himself on someone who doesn't want him.” It was a city of the dead that they were entering. Rain swept the streets in sudden and vindictive volleys. Lamps shone weakly; some were extinguished. Few people were about. At Ealing they halted for their last change. “Won't be goin' any further?” the guard suggested. When he was informed to the contrary, he glanced up at the drenched faces. He seemed to see a thing that startled him. “Blime!” While he hurried the ostlers with the harnessing, he tried not to look at those white patches in the dusk; his eyes returned to them, unwillingly fascinated. When he had released the leaders' heads, he stepped back and swung himself up behind as the coach lunged into the storm. There was barely time to reach Paddington. Peter calculated. If he missed the train, the consequences would be grave. He asked the golden woman to hurry. She listened, but made no attempt to quicken their pace. She didn't seem at all disturbed by his dilemma. He almost suspected her of holding in the horses. Too late to leave her now! As they trotted through the premature night, he began to ask himself questions. Why had she been so determined to finish the journey? Why had she shown such eagerness to be alone with him? He leant forward. “Where's Lorie?” “In London.” “And Cherry?” She tossed her head impatiently, “With you, it's always Cherry.” “Well then, Lorie--is he going to meet us?” “If he does, what difference will it make?” “To me? Not much. But to you--you'll know then, and you'll be happy.” “Shall I?” Her indifference spurred him into earnestness. From differing points of view, the golden woman and Cherry used the same arguments. If he could convince her, he could perhaps convince Cherry. In fighting for the Faun Man, it was his own battle he was fighting. “You don't know yourself, golden woman--you don't know his value. He's become a habit--you'll miss him terribly. He's been too extravagant in the giving of himself. He's made you selfish. If you were to lose him, if suddenly from giving you everything, he were to give you nothing-----” Her voice reached him bitterly. “That's what he threatens--to starve me after giving me everything. He didn't say it in those words, but----. What do I care?” “You do care. You're caring now. All day long you've been caring. If he isn't there to meet us----.” “I shall be glad.” “You won't.” He spoke eagerly. “You won't. To-night you may think you'll be glad, but to-morrow--to-morrow you'll be without him. Just think, you've kept him marking time all these years. He's expected and expected. You've banked on him--felt safe because of him. You're foolish. You can't cheat at the game of life--you can't even cheat yourself; in the end you're bound to play fair.” She didn't answer. “You won't be glad if he's not there.” Silence. “Is he going to meet us?”