CHAPTER VI.
A MASTER STROKE "Here beginneth," laughed Brandon, sliding his arm around her as she sat tense in every nerve gazing at the rain-blurred window.
She did not heed him; it was almost as if she had not heard.

Her hands were tightly clasped upon one another, and her face was turned from him.
There was no lamp inside the car, the only illumination proceeding from those without, showing them the driver huddled over the wheel, but shedding little light into the interior.
He tightened his arm about her, laying his other hand upon her clasped ones.
"By Jove, little girl, you're cold!" he said.
She was--cold as ice.

She parted her fingers stiffly to free them from his grasp.
"I--I'm quite comfortable," she assured him, without turning her head.
"Please don't trouble about me." But he was not to be thus discouraged.
"You can't be comfortable," he argued.

"Why, you're shivering.

Let me see what I can do to make things better." He tried to draw her to him, but she resisted almost angrily.
"Oh, do leave me alone! I'm not uncomfortable.