"You must, dear one."
It was not a time for disagreements. Joan clung more closely to him. The issue languished in default, was forgotten for the time....
Transports ebbed: the faintest premonitory symptoms of a return to something resembling sanity made their appearance; of a sudden Matthias remembered the hour.
"Do you know," he said with tender gravity, having consulted his watch, "it's after eleven?"
"It doesn't seem possible," she laughed happily.
"And I'm hungry," he announced. "Aren't you?"
She dared to be as frank as he: "Famished!"
"Come along, then! Run, get your hat. It gives us an excuse for at least two hours more...."
By the time she had repaired the damage this miracle had wrought with her appearance, Matthias had walked to the Astor and brought back a taxicab. The attention affected Joan with a poignant and exquisite sense of happiness.
It was only her second ride in a motor vehicle. The top being down, they sat very circumspectly apart; but Matthias captured her hand and eye spoke to eye with secret laughter of delight, each reading the other's longing thought. The speed of the cab and its sudden slackening as it picked its path down Broadway, the flow of cool air against her face, the swimming maze of lights through which they sped, the sense of luxury and protection, added the last touch of delirious pleasure to Joan's mood.