"I drove out from Warensboro, so as to get here to-night, as I have to
return to the city on Tuesday. I thought it would give me a little
more time with you, Joan," he said, looking around him, and, at last,
hesitatingly drawing an apparently reluctant chair from its formal
position at the window. The remembrance that he had ever dared to occupy
the same chair with her, now seemed hardly possible of credence.

"If it was a question of your travelling on the Lord's Day, Edward, I
would rather you should have waited until to-morrow," she said, with
slow precision.

"But--I--I thought I'd get here in time for the meeting," he said,
weakly.

"And instead, you have driven through the town, I suppose, where
everybody will see you and talk about it. But," she added, raising her
dark eyes suddenly to his, "where else have you been? The train gets
into Warensboro at six, and it's only half an hour's drive from there.
What have you been doing, Edward?"

It was scarcely a felicitous moment for the introduction of Demorest's
name, and he would have avoided it. But he reflected that he had been
seen, and he was naturally truthful. "I met Dick Demorest near the
church, and as he had something to tell me, we drove down the turnpike a
little way--so as to be out of the town, you know, Joan--and--and--"

He stopped. Her face had taken upon itself that appalling and
exasperating calmness of very good people who never get angry, but drive
others to frenzy by the simple occlusion of an adamantine veil between
their own feelings and their opponents'. "I'll tell you all about it