“That’s a charming doctrine, but I’m afraid I can’t subscribe to it.  I put in—­all my capital.  And I’ve drawn a blank.”

His tone implied a kind of strange, numb acceptance of an inimical destiny, and Sara was conscious of a rush of intense pity towards this man whose implacably cynical outlook manifested itself in almost every word he uttered.  It was no mere pose on his part—­of that she felt assured—­but something ingrained, grafted on to his very nature by the happenings of life.

Rather girlishly she essayed to combat it.

“You’re not at the end of life yet.”

He smiled at her—­a sudden, rare smile of extraordinary sweetness.  Her intention was so unmistakable—­so touchingly ingenious, as are all youth’s attempts to heal a bitterness that lies beyond its ken.

“There are no more lucky dips left in life’s tub for me, I’m afraid,” he said gently.

Sara seized upon the opening afforded.

“Of course not—­if you persist in keeping to the role of looker-on,” she retorted.

He regarded her gravely.

“Unfortunately, I’ve no longer any right to dip my head into the tub.  Even if I chanced to draw a prize—­I should only have to put it back again.”

The quiet irrevocableness of his answer shook her optimism.

“I—­don’t understand,” she said hesitatingly.

“No?”—­his tones hardened suddenly.  “It’s just as well you shouldn’t, perhaps.”

The abrupt alteration in his manner took her by surprise.  All at once, he seemed to have retreated into his shell, to have become again the curt, ironic individual of their first meeting.

“I think,” he went on, tranquilly ignoring the mixture of chagrin and amazement in her face, “I think I hear the car coming round.  You had better put on your shoes and stockings again—­they’ll be dry now—­and then we can start.  It’s no longer raining.”

Sara felt as though she had been suddenly relegated to a position of utter unimportance.  He was showing her that, as far as he was concerned, she was a person of not the slightest consequence, treating her like an inquisitive child.  Their recent conversation, during which his mantle of reserve had slipped a little aside, the music they had shared, when for a brief time they had walked together in the pleasant paths of mutual understanding, all seemed to have receded an immense distance away.  As she took her place in the car, she could almost have believed that the incidents of the afternoon were a dream, and nothing more.

Trent sat silently beside her, his attention apparently concentrated on the driving of the car.  Once he asked her if she were warm enough, and, upon her replying in the affirmative, lapsed again into silence.

Gaining security from his abstraction, Sara ventured to steal a side-glance at his face.  It was a curiously contradictory face, hard and bitter-looking, yet the reckless mouth curved sensitively at the corners, and the tolerant, humorous lines about the eyes seemed to combat the impression of almost brutal force conveyed by the frowning brows and square, dominant chin.