"It really is better for her to go straight home," he answered, as if admitting other motives had entered into his advice.
They got into the school flivver, which was waiting for them. Rain had just stopped and the back curtains were down. It was dark.
As they wheeled away from the station lights Lita heard him saying, "Didn't you know I wasn't married?" She did not immediately answer. Her hand was taken. "Didn't you know?" he said again.
A strange thing was happening to Lita. She formed the resolution of withdrawing her hand; she sent the impulse out from her brain, but it seemed only to reach her elbow; her hand, limp and willing, continued to remain in his.
They spoke hardly at all. The near presence of Matthew, the driver, a well-known school gossip, made speech undesirable. Besides, it wasn't necessary. Lita was perfectly content with silence as long as that large, solid hand enveloped hers.
As they turned in at the school gate he said, "You'll come over to see Aurelia this evening, I suppose."
She knew it wouldn't be possible, and was obliged to say so. And he was going back to town by a morning train. There was a pause.
As they got out he said, "Do you ever get up very early—as early as six?"
"I could always make a beginning," said Lita.