She indeed held the lock fast. It was a firm hand, yet soft--their
fingers had touched over the handle--and looked white in the moonlight.
He made no reply, but sank back again in his seat with a singular
sensation in the fingers that had touched hers. He was in the shadow,
and, without being seen, could abandon his reserve and glance at her
face. It struck him that he had never really seen her before. She was
not so tall as she had appeared to be. Her eyes were not large, but her
pupils were black, moist, velvety, and so convex as to seem embossed
on the white. She had an indistinctive nose, a rather colorless
face--whiter at the angles of the mouth and nose through the relief of
tiny freckles like grains of pepper. Her mouth was straight, dark, red,
but moist as her eyes. She had drawn herself into the corner of the back
seat, her wrist put through and hanging over the swinging strap, the
easy lines of her plump figure swaying from side to side with the motion
of the coach. Finally, forgetful of any presence in the dark corner
opposite, she threw her head a little farther back, slipped a trifle
lower, and placing two well-booted feet upon the middle seat, completed
a charming and wholesome picture.

Five minutes elapsed. She was looking straight at the moon. Cass Beard
felt his dignified reserve becoming very much like awkwardness. He ought
to be coldly polite.

"I hope you're not flustered, Miss, by the--by the--" he began.

"I?" She straightened herself up in the seat, cast a curious glance into
the dark corner, and then, letting herself down again, said: "Oh, dear,
no!"

Another five minutes elapsed. She had evidently forgotten him. She