“I’m sorry,” she said as he opened it, “that Mr. Hastings couldn’t come. I wanted to have time to thank him properly.”
Anthony, jarred, cheered himself with the thought that there had been a laugh in her voice. He glanced at her face. It told him nothing.
Her travelling-bag was carried out and placed in the car.
“I’m driving myself,” said Anthony. “Will you sit in front?”
She smiled at him and took the seat beside the driver’s. Annoyed with the disturbance aroused in his breast by that smile, Anthony drove out of the gate and down the narrow road to the bridge at a speed quite illegal. Then he slowed down, feeling not a little ashamed. Another new sensation for Anthony Ruthven Gethryn.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Pace frighten you?”
She turned to him not the tense, white face he had expected, but a joyous one, vivid with life under the enchanting veil.
“Not a little bit,” she said; and laughter peeped through her words. “You see, after yesterday—and all that you did—I feel quite safe with you. As if you couldn’t make a mistake. Not possibly!”
Anthony glowed.
“Yes,” she said. “Absolutely safe, that’s what I feel.” A pause. “Just as a tiny girl feels if her father takes her out, say, in a tandem.”