She had by this time, she could see, produced a great effect on him; but she would have spoken the truth to herself had she at the same moment declared that she didn’t in the least care:  all the more that the effect must be one of extreme perplexity.  What, in it all, was visibly clear for him, none the less, was that he was tremendously glad he had met her.  She held him, and he was astonished at the force of it; he was intent, immensely considerate.  His elbow was on the back of the seat, and his head, with the pot-hat pushed quite back, in a boyish way, so that she really saw almost for the first time his forehead and hair, rested on the hand into which he had crumpled his gloves.  “Yes,” he assented, “it’s not a bit horrid or vulgar.”

She just hung fire a moment, then she brought out the whole truth.  “I’d do anything for you.  I’d do anything for you.”  Never in her life had she known anything so high and fine as this, just letting him have it and bravely and magnificently leaving it.  Didn’t the place, the associations and circumstances, perfectly make it sound what it wasn’t? and wasn’t that exactly the beauty?

So she bravely and magnificently left it, and little by little she felt him take it up, take it down, as if they had been on a satin sofa in a boudoir.  She had never seen a boudoir, but there had been lots of boudoirs in the telegrams.  What she had said at all events sank into him, so that after a minute he simply made a movement that had the result of placing his hand on her own—­presently indeed that of her feeling herself firmly enough grasped.  There was no pressure she need return, there was none she need decline; she just sat admirably still, satisfied for the time with the surprise and bewilderment of the impression she made on him.  His agitation was even greater on the whole than she had at first allowed for.  “I say, you know, you mustn’t think of leaving!” he at last broke out.

“Of leaving Cocker’s, you mean?”

“Yes, you must stay on there, whatever happens, and help a fellow.”

She was silent a little, partly because it was so strange and exquisite to feel him watch her as if it really mattered to him and he were almost in suspense.  “Then you have quite recognised what I’ve tried to do?” she asked.

“Why, wasn’t that exactly what I dashed over from my door just now to thank you for?”

“Yes; so you said.”

“And don’t you believe it?”

She looked down a moment at his hand, which continued to cover her own; whereupon he presently drew it back, rather restlessly folding his arms.  Without answering his question she went on:  “Have you ever spoken of me?”

“Spoken of you?”

“Of my being there—­of my knowing, and that sort of thing.”

“Oh never to a human creature!” he eagerly declared.