It was dreadfully difficult not to speak nicely to my neighbour, his directness and simplicity are so engaging, but I did try hard to concentrate myself on Christopher, and leave him alone--only I don’t know why--the sense of his being so near me made me feel--I don’t quite know what. However, I hardly spoke to him, Lady Ver shall never say I did not play fair, though insensibly even she herself drew me into a friendly conversation, and then Lord Robert looked like a happy schoolboy. We had a delightful time. Mr. Carruthers is a perfect host. He has all the smooth and exquisite manners of the old diplomats, without their false teeth and things. I wish I were in love with him--or even I wish something inside me would only let me feel it was my duty to marry him; but it jumps up at me every time I want to talk to myself about it, and says “Absolutely impossible.” When it came to starting for the opera, “Mr. Carruthers will take you in his brougham, Evangeline,” Lady Ver said, “and I will be protected by Robert. Come along, Robert!” as he hesitated. “Oh, I say, Lady Ver!” he said, “I would love to come with you--but won’t it look rather odd for Miss Evangeline to arrive alone with Christopher. Consider his character!” Lady Ver darted a glance of flame at him, and got into the electric; while Christopher, without hesitation, handed me into his brougham. Lord Robert and I were two puppets, a part I do not like playing. I was angry altogether. She would not have dared to have left me to go like this, if I had been any one who mattered. Mr. Carruthers got in, and tucked his sable rug round me. I never spoke a word for a long time, and Covent Garden is not far off, I told myself. I I can’t say why I had a sense of _malaise_. There was a strange look in his face, as a great lamp threw alight on it. “Evangeline,” he said, in a voice I have not yet heard, “when are you going to finish playing with me--I am growing to love you, you know.” “I am very sorry to hear it,” I said, gently. “I don’t want you to--oh! please _don’t_!” as he took my hand. “I--I--if you only knew how I _hate_ being touched!” He leant back, and looked at me. There is something which goes to the head a little about being in a brougham with nice fur rugs, alone with some one at night. The lights flashing in at the windows, and that faint scent of a very good cigar. I felt fearfully excited. If it had been Lord Robert, I believe--well---- He leant over very close to me. It seemed in another moment he would kiss me--and what could I do then--I couldn’t scream, or jump out in Leicester Square, could I? “Why do you call me Evangeline?” I said, by way of putting him off. “I never said you might.” “Foolish child--I shall call you what I please. You drive me mad--I don’t know what you were born for. Do you always have this effect on people?” “What effect?” I said, to gain time; we had got nearly into Long Acre.