It was that man's look which makes a woman's heart beat faster, even if
she is as inexperienced as Lydia. She was already tingling with an
undefined emotion, and the shock of their meeting eyes made her face
glow. It shone through the half-light as though a lamp had been lighted
within.

They stood silently waiting for the car which flashed a headlight toward
them far down the track. As it drew near, bounding over the rails,
humming like a great insect, and bringing visibly nearer and nearer the
end of their time together, Lydia was aware that Rankin was in the grasp
of an emotion that threatened to become articulate. The steady advance
of the car was forcing him to a speech against which he struggled in
vain. Lydia began to quiver. She felt an expectancy of something lovely,
moving, new to her, which grew tenser and tenser, as though her nerves
were the strings of an instrument being pulled into tune for a melody.
Standing there in the cold, rainy twilight, she had a moment of the
exultation she had thought was to be so common in her Endbury career.
She felt warmed through with the consciousness of being lovely, admired,
secure, supremely fortunate, just as she had thought she would feel; but
she had not been able to imagine the extraordinary happiness that this,
or some unrecognized element of the moment, gave to her.

The car was almost upon them; the blinding glare of the headlight showed
their faces with startling suddenness. She saw in Rankin's eyes a
tenderness that went to her heart. She leaned to him from the steps of
the car to which he swung her--she leaned to him with a sweet,
unconscious eagerness. In the instant before the car moved forward, as
he stood gazing up at her, he spoke at last.

The words hummed meaningless in Lydia's ears, and it was not until some
time after, in the garish white brilliance of the car, that she
convinced herself that she had heard aright. Even then, though she still
saw his face raised to hers, the raindrops glistening on his hair and
beard, even though she still heard the fervor of his voice, she remained
incredulous before the enigma of his totally unexpected words. He had
said, with a solemn note of pity in his voice: "Ah, my poor child, I am
so horribly, horribly sorry for you!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE SHADOW OF THE COMING EVENT

Judge Emery looked tired and old as he sat down heavily at his
dinner-table opposite his pretty daughter. The discomfort and
irregula