, did not
run at night. Human daring had limits, and it was reported that at least
one motor-driver, succumbing to the awful nervous strain of guiding
these fast expresses through the traffic of the West End, had been taken
to the lunatic asylum. George called a hansom, of which there were
dozens idling about. Marguerite seemed tacitly to object to this act as
the germ of extravagance; but it was the only classic thing to do, and
he did it.

The hansom rolled rapidly and smoothly along upon that well-established
novelty, india-rubber tyres. Bits of the jingling harness oscillated
regularly from side to side. At intervals the whip-thong dragged gently
across the horse's back, and the horse lifted and shook its head. The
shallow and narrow interior of the hansom was constructed with
exactitude to hold two. Neither occupant could move in any direction,
and neither desired to move. The splendidly lighted avenues, of which
every detail could be discerned as by day, flowed evenly past the
vehicle.

"I've never been in a hansom before," said Marguerite timidly--because
the situation was so dismaying in its enchantment.

He, from the height of two years of hansom-using, was touched,
delighted, even impressed. The staggering fact increased her virginal
charm and its protectiveness. He thought upon the simplicity of her
existence. Of course she had never been in a hansom! Hansoms were
obviously outside her scheme. He said nothing, but he sought for and
found her hand beneath the apron. She did not resist. He reflected "Can
she resist? She cannot." Her hand was in a living swoon. Her hand was
his; it was admittedly his. She could never deny it, now. He touched the
button of the glove, and undid it. Then, moving her passive hand, he
brought both his to it, and with infinitely delicate and considerate
gestures he slowly drew off the glove, and he held her hand ungloved.
She did not stir nor speak. Nothing so marvellous as her exquisite and
confiding stillness had ever happened.... The hansom turned into
Alexandra Grove, and when it stopped he pushed the glove into her hand,
which closed on it. As they descended the cabman, accustomed to peer
down on loves pure and impure, gave them a beneficent look.

"He's not come in," said Marguerite, glancing through the flap of the
front door. She was exceedingly self-conscious, but beneath her
self-consciousness could be noticed an indignant accusation against old
Haim. She had rung the b