like that--maintaining
that remote impersonality until she herself wanted him to be different!
But if he wrapped the lap robe about her with too lingering an arm, or
else, flying to the other extreme, began to be friendly and chatty,
pretending that there was nothing extraordinary in two strangers being
alone like this in a sleeping, moonlit world----

He did neither. When he brought the car to the steps the lap robe was
folded back on the seat so that she could wrap it about her own knees.
She did so with an exclamation. The mist clung in minute drops to its
rough surface.

"It's wet," she said.

He did not answer--did not speak even, when as they left the Piers'
place it became necessary to choose their road. He chose without
consultation.

"But do you know where I live?" she asked.

"Be content for once to be a passenger," he replied.

The answer had the good fortune to please. She leaned back, clasping her
hands in her lap, relaxing all her muscles.

On the highroad she was less aware of the moon, for the headlights made
the mist visible like a wall about them. She felt as if she were running
through a new element and could detect nothing outside the car. She was
detached from all previous experience, content to be, as he had said,
for once a passenger. This was a new sensation. She remembered what
Ilseboro had said about her being a bully. Well, she'd try the other
thing to-night. She only hoped it wouldn't end in some sort of a scene.
She glanced up at her companion's profile. It looked quiet enough, but
she decided that she had better not go on much longer without making him
speak. Her ear was well attuned to human vibrations, and if there were a
certain low tremor in his voice--well, then it would be better to go
straight home.

"This is rather extraordinary, isn't it?" she said. This might be
interpreted in a number of ways.

"Yes, it is," he said, exactly matching her tone.

She tried him again.

"Did you enjoy the evening?" It seemed almost certain that he would
answer tenderly, "I'm enjoying this part of it."

"It was good bridge," he said.

That sounded all right, she thought. His voice was as cool as her own.
She could let things go and give herself up to enjoying the night and
the moon and the motion and the damp air on her face and arms. She felt
utterly at peace. Presently he turned from the highroad down a lane so
untraveled that the low branches came swishing into her lap; they came