She was by the step almost before
he could offer a hand to help her in, and as she paused to render
him his due meed of thanks, it became evident that she harbored
little if any resentment; eyes shining, face aglow with gratitude,
she dropped him a droll but graceful little courtesy.
"You are too good!" she declared with spirit. "How can I thank
you?"
"You might," he suggested, looking down into her face from his
superior height, "give me a bit of a lift--just a couple of miles
up the road. Though," he supplemented eagerly, "if you'd really
prefer, I should be only too happy to drive the car home for you?"
"Two miles, did you say?"
He fancied something odd in her tone; besides, the question was
superfluous. His eyes informed with puzzlement, he replied: "Why,
yes--that much, more or less. I live--"
"Of course," she put in quickly, "I'll give you the lift--only too
glad. But as for your taking me home at this hour, I can't hear of
that."
"But--"
"Besides, what would people say?" she countered obstinately. "Oh,
no," she decided; and he felt that from this decision there would
be no appeal; "I couldn't think of interfering with your ... arrangements."
Her eyes held his for a single instant, instinct with mischief,
gleaming with bewildering light from out a face schooled to
gravity. Maitland experienced a sensation of having grasped after
and missed a subtlety of allusion; his wits, keen as they were,
recoiled, baffled by her finesse.
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