"There must be a coat and cap in the locker," she said to the chauffeur; "let Mr. Witla have it."
The latter extracted a spare linen coat and straw cap which Eugene put on.
"I like automobiling, don't you?" she said to Eugene good-naturedly. "It's so refreshing. If there is any rest from care on this earth it's in traveling fast."
"I've never ridden before," replied Eugene simply. Something about the way he said it touched her. She felt sorry for him because he appeared lonely and gloomy. His indifference to her piqued her curiosity and irritated her pride. Why shouldn't he take an interest in her? As they sped under leafy lanes, up hill and down dale, she made out his face in the starlight. It was pale, reflective, indifferent. "These deep thinkers!" she chided him. "It's terrible to be a philosopher." Eugene smiled.
When they reached home he went to his room as did all the others to theirs. He stepped out into the hall a few minutes later to go to the library for a book, and found that her door which he had to pass was wide open. She was sitting back in a Morris chair, her feet upon another chair, her skirts slightly drawn up revealing a trim foot and ankle. She did not stir but looked up and smiled winningly.
"Aren't you tired enough to sleep?" he asked.
"Not quite yet," she smiled.
He went down stairs and turning on a light in the library stood looking at a row of books reading the titles. He heard a step and there she was looking at the books also.
"Don't you want a bottle of beer?" she asked. "I think there is some in the ice box. I forgot that you might be thirsty."
"I really don't care," he said. "I'm not much for drinks of any kind."