But the train had begun to move. I sank back in my corner. Belleville took the corner opposite. In a few minutes Sir Robert complained of the light, in the manner of a sick man. Belleville sprang up and put it out altogether. The darkness now was absolute.
"If you will take this side, I can make you comfortable; there is a cushion to spare," said Belleville's voice. He was not addressing me.
"I prefer to remain where I am, thank you," said Miss Ottley, in a frigid tone.
Belleville sat down silently. Now and then I caught the glimmer of his eyes from the reflection of passing lights, or the glow of the engine smoke and steam, wind-blown beside the train. He was staring into the corner which I occupied. I felt his hatred wrap and heat me like a coat composed of nettles. And the man had occasion, for ere long Miss Ottley's hand stole to mine, and she sighed when mine enclosed and pressed it close. Belleville could not have known, yet he must have felt we were in sympathy opposed to him—just as I felt his hostile influence. It was a silent ride, but not uninteresting. Twice Belleville unexpectedly struck a match and flashed it in our faces. But my rug covered the occupation of our hands. Once instinct warned me that he was bending forward, peering and prying. I raised my foot and brushed it in his beard. He fell back, coughing, to prevent himself from cursing. It was in that moment probably that he resolved upon my death, for I was unable to restrain a low, grim laugh. Sir Robert slept always, even when we paused at stations on the road. At those times Belleville and I exchanged pretty courtesies. He would offer me his flask, or I would offer him a cigarette. We both refused these charming civilities, but our manner was so densely sugar-coated that there might have been detected by a skilled psychometrist a scent of honey in the air. And our eyes beamed upon each other with the sweetest friendliness. Needless to say, whenever the engine whistled or the train slowed down Miss Ottley's hand left mine. She only spoke to me once, and that was on the London platform, while Belleville was assisting her father from the car.
"Do not go out ever between three and five!" she muttered behind her veil, without looking at me. "I shall come as soon as I can. Do not call on me! Do not reply! Just say good-bye!"
"Well—if you'll allow me, I'll say good-bye, Miss Ottley," I announced in ordinary tones. "You might be good enough to let me know your opinion of my book at your leisure, for I value your opinion. You will have an advance copy in a week or two."
"Most certainly, Dr. Pinsent. It is kind of you to remember your promise. Good-bye!"
I lifted my hat and left her; nodding to Belleville as I passed. He looked surprised, also distrustful, but he said something polite. Sir Robert saw me, but chose to ignore my existence.
I walked home to Bruton Street and found Hubbard ensconced before the fire. The night was chilly enough to warrant one, despite the season. He was staring gloomily into the heart of the glowing coals.
I helped myself to a glass of whisky and took an armchair beside him.