He seized the ungloved fingers, and kissed them.
"Geraldine!" At this moment a low chuckle issued from the bundle of rugs.
Sam dropped the hand, and started back as if stung.

A hateful thought flashed upon him.
"Moggridge?
But no--" He seized his lantern, and turned the slide.

A stream of light shot into the corner of the chaise, and revealed--the bland face of Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys! There was an instant of blank dismay.

Then, with a peal of laughter, Geraldine sank back among the cushions.
"_Good_-night!" said the Honourable Frederic with grim affability; then, popping his head out at the further window, "Drive on, John!" The post-boy cracked his whip, the horses sprang forward, and Sam, with that pitiless laugh still pealing in his ears, was left standing on the high-road.
In the tumult of the moment, beyond a wild sense of injustice, it is my belief that his brain accomplished little.

He stared dully after the retreating chaise, until it disappeared in the direction of Five Lanes; and then he groaned aloud.
There was a patch of turf, now heavy with dew, beside the sign-post.
Upon this he sat down, and with his elbows on his knees, and head between his hands, strove to still the giddy whirl in his brain.