Though what _he's_
out for, either, at this hour--"
Austin reined in his horse. "Because I knew Sylvia and Thomas must have
got into some difficulty," he said quietly. Considering the pitch at
which it had been uttered, it had not been hard to overhear Mrs.
Elliott's speech. "Pretty bad travelling, wasn't it? I'm sorry. Tires,
too? Well, that was hard luck. But we'll be home in no time now, and of
course the show was worth it. You didn't hurt your dress-suit any, did
you, Thomas? I worried a little about that. You drive--I'll get in on the
back seat with Sylvia, and make sure the robe's tucked around her all
right. It seems to be coming off cold again, doesn't it? Good-night, Mrs.
Elliott--thank you for your sympathy."
Conversation languished. Austin, unseen by the miserable Thomas on the
front seat, and unreproved by the weary and chilly Sylvia, "tucked the
robe around her" and then, apparently, forgot to take his arm away.
Moreover, he searched in the darkness for her small, cold fingers, and
gathered them into his free hand, which was warm and big and strong.
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