“I am glad you have come,” he said.

But she could not answer.  A moment afterwards he said, and she noticed that his voice trembled, “You are coming in to tea?”

Again she did not answer, and thinking it safer to take things for granted, he walked towards the gate.  He was at the point of saying, “That is my house,” but he checked himself, thinking that silence was safer than speech.  He could not get the gate open, and while he wrenched at the lock, he dreaded that delay might give her time to change her mind.  But Evelyn was now quite determined.  Her brain seemed to effervesce and her blood to bubble with joy, a triumphant happiness filled her, for no doubt remained that she was going to Paris to-night.

“Let us have tea as soon as possible, and tell Stanley to bring the brougham round at once.”

“Why did you order the brougham?”

“Are you not—?  I thought—­”

The brilliancy of her eyes answered him, and he took her hands.

“Then you are coming with me to Paris?”

“Yes, if you like, Owen, anywhere....  But let me kiss you.”

And she stood in a beautiful, amorous attitude, her arm thrown about his neck, her eyes aflame.

“The brougham will be round in half an hour.  There is a train at six to Dover.  It gets there at nine.  So we shall have time to dine at the Lord Warden, and get on board the boat before the mail arrives.”

“But I have no clothes.”

“The night is fine; we shall have a lovely crossing; you will only want a shawl and a rug....  But what are you thinking of?  You don’t regret?”

His eyes were tenderer than hers.  She perceived in their grey lights a tenderness, as affection which seemed in contradiction to his nature as she had hitherto understood it.  Even the thought flashed dimly in the background of her mind that his love was truer than hers; his cynicism, which had often frightened her, seemed to have vanished; indeed, there was something different in him from the man she had hitherto known—­a difference which was rendered evident by the accent with which he said—­

“Dearest Evelyn, this is the happiest moment of my life.  I have spent two terrible days wondering if you would come.”

“Did you, dear?  Did you think of me?  Are you fond of me?”

He pressed her hand, and with one look answered her question, and she saw the streets flash past her—­for they were in the brougham driving to Charing Cross.  There was still the danger of meeting Mr. Innes at the station; but the danger was slight.  She knew of no business that would take him to Charing Cross, and they were thankful the train did not start from Victoria.