He did not answer. She presently settled into her corner, and he wrapped her in the fur robe. Neither spoke; the lamplight flashed ahead through the falling rain; all else was darkness—the widest world of darkness, it seemed to her fancy, that she ever looked out upon, for it seemed to leave this man and herself alone in the centre of things.
Conscious of him beside her, she was curiously content not to look at him or to disturb the silence encompassing them. The sense of speed, the rush through obscurity, seemed part of it—part of a confused and pleasurable irresponsibility.
Later, standing under the dripping eaves of the station platform with him, watching the approaching headlight of the distant locomotive, she said:
"You have made it a very delightful day for me. I wanted to thank you."
He was silent; the distant locomotive whistled, and the vista of wet rails began to glisten red in the swift approach.
"I don't want you to go to town alone on that train," he said abruptly.
"What?" in utter surprise.
"Will you let me go with you, Miss Nevers?"
"Nonsense! I wander about everywhere alone. Please don't spoil it all. Don't even go aboard to find a seat for me."