She seemed to shrink away suddenly into her corner. The very
simplicity of his sympathy, and the quiet, natural friendliness in his
face, stirred some strange chord in her heart with a swift,
unaccountable ache. He looked so big and strong and splendid there in
the shadow, with his freshness and his charm; and she felt very
brain-fagged and world-weary; and without in the least knowing why, or
what led up to the desire, she wanted to feel his arms about her, and
his freshness soothing her spirit.

And instead he was not even attempting to make love to her, not even
flirting with her. Would any other man she knew have ridden beside her
thus after the gentleness she had shown? Was that perhaps the very
secret of his attraction? Or was it a physical allurement - the
irresistible charm of bigness and strength, independent of anything
else, drawing with its time-old sway?

She had no time to probe further, as the brougham stopped at her door.
He handed her out with the deference so often met with in big men,
remarking width an old-fashioned air that suited him to perfection:

"I'm afraid we have all tired you very much. It was good of you to
come with us. I can't tell you how much we appreciate it."

"Oh, indeed no; you refreshed me. Good-night. Stevens will run you
home. Don't forget Sunday", and she moved away.

"It must be his bigness," was her last thought as her head touched the
pillow. "When I am used to it, no doubt the novelty will pass, and I
shall find him merely boyish, and be rather bored."