"Mrs. Westangle's carriage. Going to the station for you, sir."

"Miss Shirley," Verrian said, "will you change?"

"Oh no," she answered, quickly, "it's better for me to go on as I am.
But the carriage was sent for you. You must--"

Verrian interrupted to ask the footman, "How far is it yet to Mrs.
Westangle's?"

"About a mile, sir."

"I think I won't change for such a short distance. I'll keep on as I
am," Verrian said, and he let the goatskin, which he had half lifted to
free Miss Shirley for dismounting, fall back again. "Go ahead, driver."

She had been making several gasping efforts at speech, accompanied with
entreating and protesting glances at Verrian in the course of his brief
colloquy with the footman. Now, as the carryall lurched forward again,
and the victoria wheeled and passed them on its way back, she caught her
handkerchief to her face, and to Verrian's dismay sobbed into it. He let
her cry, as he must, in the distressful silence which he could not be the
first to break. Besides, he did not know how she was taking it all till
she suddenly with threw her handkerchief and pulled down her veil. Then
she spoke three heart-broken words, "How could you!" and he divined that
he must have done wrong.

"What ought I to have done?" he asked, with sullen humility.