Now, for the first time, in this beautiful waif of the big city he had found a mixture of warmth and coldness, of straightforward simplicity and boldness, which opened his eyes as to there being in her sex an attraction he had previously denied. He felt as he looked at her that he wanted her; that he could not go away and forget her in the presence of the next pretty face he happened to see.
This shabbily dressed girl, with the shiny seams in her black frock and the rusty hat, inspired him with respect, with something like reverence.
In his way he had been in love many, many times. Now for the first time he worshiped a woman.
When the carriage stopped at the park gate of The Beeches, Max sprang out, and without waiting to answer the hurried questions of Carrie, who had awakened with a start, he ran across the grass and up the slope to the house.
It was nine o'clock, and, when the door was opened by Bartram, Max came face to face with Doreen, who was entering the hall on her way to the breakfast-room.
"Why, Max, is it you? What a strange time to arrive! And where have you been? You look as if you'd been up all night!" cried she, and she ran forward to kiss him, and swinging him round to the light, examined him, with an expression of amazement and horror.
"I have been up all night," said he, briefly. "I've driven all the way from London—"
"What!"
"And—and I've brought some one with me—some one who is ill, who is in trouble. Some one—"
A cry broke from her lips. She had grown quite white, and her hands had dropped to her sides.