At a few minutes after ten Loder left Chilcote’s room, resolutely descended the stairs, and took up his position in the hall.  Resolution is a strong word to apply to such a proceeding, but something in his bearing, in the attitude of his shoulders and head, instinctively suggested it.

Five or six minutes passed, but he waited without impatience; then at last the sound of a carriage stopping before the house caused him to lift his head, and at the same instant Eve appeared at the head of the staircase.

She stood there for a second, looking down on him, her maid a pace or two behind, holding her cloak.  The picture she made struck upon his mind with something of a revelation.

On his first sight of her she had appealed to him as a strange blending of youth and self-possession—­a girl with a woman’s clearer perception of life; later he had been drawn to study her in other aspects—­as a possible comrade and friend; now for the first time he saw her as a power in her own world, a woman to whom no man could deny consideration.  She looked taller for the distance between them, and the distinction of her carriage added to the effect.  Her black gown was exquisitely soft—­as soft as her black hair; above her forehead was a cluster of splendid diamonds shaped like a coronet, and a band of the same stones encircled her neck.  Loder realized in a glance that only the most distinguished of women could wear such ornaments and not have her beauty eclipsed.  With a touch of the old awkwardness that had before assailed him in her presence, he came slowly forward as she descended the stairs.

“Can I help you with your cloak?” he asked.  And as he asked it, something like surprise at his own timidity crossed his mind.

For a second Eve’s glance rested on his face.  Her expression was quite impassive, but as she lowered her lashes a faint gleam flickered across her eyes; nevertheless, her answer, when it came, was studiously courteous.

“Thank you,” she said, “but Marie will do all I want.”

Loder looked at her for a moment, then turned aside.  He was not hurt by his rebuff; rather, by an interesting sequence of impressions, he was stirred by it.  The pride that had refused Chilcote’s help, and the self-control that had refused it graciously, moved him to admiration.  He understood and appreciated both by the light of person experience.

“The carriage is waiting, sir,” Crapham’s voice broke in.

Loder nodded, and Eve turned to her maid.  “That will do, Marie,” she said.  “I shall want a cup of chocolate when I get back—­probably at one o clock.”  She drew her cloak about her shoulders and moved towards the door.  Then she paused and looked back.  “Shall we start?” she asked, quietly.

Loder, still watching her, came forward at once.  “Certainly,” he said, with unusual gentleness.

He followed her as she crossed the footpath, but made no further offer of help; and when the moment came he quietly took his place beside her in the carriage.  His last impression, as the horses wheeled round, was of the open hall door—­Crapham in his sombre livery and the maid in her black dress, both silhouetted against the dark background of the hall; then, as the carriage moved forward smoothly and rapidly, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.