Errol paused to pull on an overcoat and then followed her on to the steps. A large covered motor had just glided up. He handed her into it. "By Jove, you are cold!" he said.
She made no rejoinder.
He stepped in beside her, after a word with the chauffeur, and shut the door.
Almost instantly they were in motion, and in another moment were shooting forward swiftly down the long, ill-lighted street.
Anne Carfax sank back in her corner and lay motionless. The glare of the little electric lamp upon her face showed it white and tired. Her eyes were closed.
The man beside her sat bolt upright, his eyes fixed unblinkingly upon the window in front, his jaw set grimly. He held the gloves he had worn all the evening between his hands, and his fingers worked at them unceasingly. He was rending the soft kid to ribbons.
They left the desolate street behind and came into total darkness.
Suddenly, but very quietly, Anne spoke. "This is very kind of you,
Mr. Errol."
He turned towards her. She had opened her eyes to address him, but the lids drooped heavily.
"The kindness is on your side, Lady Carfax," he said deliberately. "If you manage to inspire it in others, the virtue is still your own."