ii

Now all was changed. Edgar no longer drove at reckless speed. He went slowly and easily by a longer route, which took them by frequented streets; and they passed many cabs or cars travelling from the opposite direction. They were thus not alone, since they were in an active world. Edgar was still concentrated upon the car and the road; but he was very conscious of Patricia's ominous and stubborn silence. Many explanations of it, and speculations as to what had happened, and what had made her telephone to him at so late an hour entered his head; but a moving automobile at night, in a city, when one is the driver, is not a possible situation for agitated enquiry. Edgar therefore waited for Patricia to explain of her own accord, which apparently she could not yet do. Therefore, with only occasional slight glances aside at the face half invisible in the darkness, he concerned himself wholly with their progress. Only when the road was at last clear, and he could take the wheel with his right hand, did he stretch out the left to her.

"What is it?" he asked. "What was it?"

Patricia took his hand in both her own, and pressed it, holding it tightly against her breast. But still she did not speak; and in a moment, when there was an obstruction in the road, Edgar was forced to withdraw his hand so that he could use the other to sound the warning horn. He could feel Patricia's hand extended so that she could touch him, and the knowledge that she wished this reassuring contact gave him a faint happiness; and so they sat together in the darkness until they arrived in Chelsea, and in the road where Patricia lived. Edgar stopped the car and the engine, turning to her.

"You haven't changed your mind," he said, in a murmur. "What then?"

His arm was moved to embrace her; but she did not permit it. Only she again took his hand in both of hers.

"I haven't changed my mind at all," said Patricia in a cold voice.

"So I heard," answered Edgar, smiling, his face close to hers.

"But I wanted to see you," she whispered.

"And then?"

There was a pause.

"Nothing," whispered Patricia again, so low that he could hardly hear her. She immediately afterwards stiffened, discarding his hand as though it had been a loathsome temptation. Edgar stared down at his poor hand. "Nothing—nothing at all."

"It's done you good to see me?" he asked. He could see a quick little nodding. "Well, that's something, don't you think?"

"You're good," said Patricia. "You're better than me."

"Of course, I'm extraordinarily good," Edgar agreed. "But—"

"Silly!" It was a sort of ashamed mumble that he heard. "Well, I'm going now."

"Oh, not yet." He had tried to take her hand; but Patricia eluded him, and bent forward to open the door. The catch was difficult, and she could not master it. Edgar also bent forward, both arms extended; and it seemed so much easier to take Patricia in his arms than to undo the catch of the door that he could not help following the easier course.

"No!" cried Patricia, succeeding with the catch, and almost tumbling out of the car. She shut the door firmly behind her; and Edgar, inside, looked out upon Patricia, who stood without. The window upon that side of the car was raised, and so communication between them was impossible. Edgar opened the door. "Don't get out," said Patricia, quickly. "Thank you very much for coming for me. It was awfully good of you to come."

"Not at all," said Edgar, very politely, stepping to the ground. "But won't you tell me why you wanted to see me? And there are one or two other things, by the way—"

Patricia groaned.

"I can't argue with you to-night," she said, as if in a goaded voice of exhaustion.

"Will you argue with me to-morrow?"

"I'll never argue with you!" vehemently exclaimed Patricia. He did not believe her. He thought she would always argue with him. "And I'm not sure that I want to see you to-morrow."

"Very well," said Edgar quietly. He took off his cap, and stepped back into the car.

"What time?" cried Patricia.

He leaned forward.

"You're a silly little thing!" he said. "But as to-morrow is Saturday, and I shall not go to the office at all, I'll call for you in this at ten o-clock, and take you to some thoroughly vulgar and third-rate hotel for lunch, and then I'll explain—I won't argue; but I'll explain—what's the matter with you."

And with that he used his mechanical starter, closed the door of the car, and would have driven off. But Patricia had come round to the open window of the car.

"Edgar," she said, pleadingly. "Don't be unkind. I've been a horrible little beast to-night; and I'm very ashamed of myself—and worse. And I had to see you to ... to...." She stammered. "I can't tell you," she continued. "Yes, I can. I must. I wanted to see you to get clean again after what I've been going through this evening. And while I was waiting for you I thought I'd see if I was good enough for you. And I'm not. But do come for me to-morrow. It's very necessary. Really. Good-night, Edgar." She held her hand in at the window. He shook it, and Patricia, who perhaps had expected another form of farewell, withdrew the hand as the car moved forward upon its homeward journey.