Looking back, she saw through the blue hazes of the evening the two distant figures--the white form on the horse, the protecting nearness of the man.
She stifled a moan, drawn deep from founts of covetous and passionate agony.

Then she turned and hurried up the stony path with an energy, a useless haste that evoked loud protests from Reggie Brooklyn.

Eleanor did not answer him.

There was beating within her veins a violence that appalled herself.

Whither was she going?
What change had already passed on all the gentle tendernesses and humanities of her being?
* * * * * Meanwhile Lucy was reviving in the cool freshness of the evening air.