“Only by name,” said Rachel, wearily.

“I’m glad to hear it,” pursued Mr. Steel, “for I think you will be pleased.  It is not like the ordinary run of hotels.  Your rooms are your castle—­regular self-contained flat—­and you needn’t see another soul if you don’t like.  I am staying in the hotel myself, for example, but you shall not set eyes on me for a week unless you wish to.”

“But I don’t understand,” began Rachel, roused a little from her apathy.  She was not suffered to proceed.

“Nor are you to attempt to do so,” said her companion, “until to-morrow morning.  If you feel equal to it then, I shall crave an audience, and you shall hear what I have got to say.  But first, let me beg of you, an adequate supper and a good night’s rest!”

“One thing is certain,” said Rachel, half to herself:  “they can’t know who I am, or they never would have taken me in.  And no luggage!”

“That they are prepared for,” returned Steel; “and in your rooms you will find a maid who is also prepared and equipped for your emergency.  As to their not knowing who you are at the hotel, there you are right; they do not know; it would have been inexpedient to tell them.”

“Then at least,” said Rachel, “I ought to know who I am supposed to be.”

And she smiled, for interest and curiosity were awakened within her, with the momentary effect of stimulants; but Mr. Steel sat silent at her side.  The cab was tinkling up Park Lane.  The great park on the left, the great houses on the right, the darkness on the one hand, the lights on the other, had all the fascination of sharp contrasts—­that very fascination which was Mr. Steel’s.  Rachel already discovered it in his face, and divined it in his character, without admitting to herself that there was any fascination at all.  Yet otherwise she would have dropped rather than have done what she was doing now.  The man had cast a spell upon her; and for the present she did feel safe in his hands.  But with that unmistakable sense of immediate security there mingled a subtler premonition of ultimate danger, to which Rachel had felt alive from the first.  And this was the keenest stimulus of all.

What was his intention, and what his object?  To draw back was to find out neither; and to say the truth, even if she had not been friendless and forlorn, Rachel would have been very sorry to draw back now.

The raw air in her face had greatly revived her; the sights and lights of the town were still new and dear to her; she had come back to the world with a vengeance, to a world of incident and interest, with an adventure ready waiting to take her out of her past self!

But it was only her companion’s silence which enabled Rachel to realize her strange fortune at this stage, and she had to put her question point-blank before she obtained any answer at all.