As Irvin seized her hands and looked at her eagerly, half-fearfully, Rita achieved sufficient composure to speak.
“Oh, Mr. Irvin,” she said, and found that her voice was not entirely normal, “what must you think—”
He continued to hold her hands, and:
“I think you are very indiscreet to be out alone at three o’clock in the morning,” he answered gently. “I was recalled to London by urgent business, and returned by road—fortunately, since I have met you.”
“How can I explain—”
“I don’t ask you to explain—Miss Dresden. I have no right and no desire to ask. But I wish I had the right to advise you.”
“How good you are,” she began, “and I—”
Her voice failed her completely, and her sensitive lips began to tremble. Monte Irvin drew her arm under his own and led her back to meet the car, which the chauffeur had turned and which was now approaching.
“I will drive you home,” he said, “and if I may call in the morning. I should like to do so.”
Rita nodded. She could not trust herself to speak again. And having placed her in the car, Monte Irvin sat beside her, reclaiming her hand and grasping it reassuringly and sympathetically throughout the short drive. They parted at her door.