She almost whispered the words, but he heard her, and to him there was something caressing in her tone.
They passed up a long avenue of trees leading to her home, and a few seconds later the car stood at the door.
"You'll come in and have some tea, won't you?"
"May I?" he asked eagerly.
"Of course you may. Mother will be expecting you."
As he rode back to Wendover Park that evening Dick was in Paradise. Nothing but the most commonplace things had been said, but the girl had fascinated him. She had appealed to his ambition, to his pride, to his admiration for perfect, physical womanhood. She was not very clever, but she was handsome. She was instinct with redundant health; she was glorious in her youth and vitality.
"I'm in love," he said to himself more than once. "And she's wonderful—simply, gloriously wonderful. What eyes, what a complexion, what a magnificent figure! I wonder if——"
I am dwelling somewhat on this part of Dick Faversham's life because I wish the reader to understand the condition of his mind, to understand the forces at work. Uninteresting as it may be, it is still important. For Dick passed through some wonderful experiences soon after—experiences which shook the foundations of his life, and which will be more truly understood as we realise the thoughts and feelings which possessed him.
As I have said, he was in a state of bliss as he drove back to Wendover Park that evening, but as he neared his lodge gates a curious feeling of depression possessed him. His heart became heavy, forebodings filled his mind. It seemed to him that he was on the edge of a dreadful calamity.
"What's the matter with me?" he asked himself again and again. "The sun is shining, the world is lovely, and I have all that heart can wish for."