The lion was indeed aroused at last, and whip or goad or wile of no avail.  There came a time when she no longer knew what he was saying:  when speech, though eloquent and forceful, seemed a useless medium.  Her appeals were lost, and she found herself fighting in his arms, when suddenly they turned into one of the crowded arteries of Harlem.  She made a supreme effort of will, and he released her.

“Oh!” she cried, trembling.

But he looked at her, unrepentant, with the light of triumph in his eyes.

“I’ll never forgive you!” she exclaimed, breathless.

“I gloried in it,” he replied.  “I shall remember it as long as I live, and I’ll do it again.”

She did not answer him.  She dropped her veil, and for a long space was silent while they rapidly threaded the traffic, and at length turned into upper Fifth Avenue, skirting the Park.  She did not so much as glance at him.  But he seemed content to watch her veiled profile in the dusk.

Her breath, in the first tumult of her thought, came and went deeply.  But gradually as the street lights burned brighter and familiar sights began to appear, she grew more controlled and became capable of reflection.  She remembered that there was a train for Quicksands at seven-fifteen, which Howard had taken once or twice.  But she felt that the interval was too short.  In that brief period she could not calm herself sufficiently to face her guests.  Indeed, the notion of appearing alone, or with Brent, at that dinner-party, appalled her.  And suddenly an idea presented itself.

Brent leaned over, and began to direct the chauffeur to a well-known hotel.  She interrupted him.

“No,” she said, “I’d rather go to the Holland House.”

“Very well,” he said amicably, not a little surprised at this unlooked-for acquiescence, and then told his man to keep straight on down the Avenue.

She began mechanically to rearrange her hat and veil; and after that, sitting upright, to watch the cross streets with feverish anticipation, her hands in her lap.

“Honora?” he said.

She did not answer.

“Raise the veil, just for a moment, and look at me.”

She shook her head.  But for some reason, best known to herself, she smiled a little.  Perhaps it was because her indignation, which would have frightened many men into repentance, left this one undismayed.  At any rate, he caught the gleam of the smile through the film of her veil, and laughed.

“We’ll have a little table in the corner of the room,” he declared, “and you shall order the dinner.  Here we are,” he cried to the chauffeur.  “Pull up to the right.”

They alighted, crossed the sidewalk, the doors were flung open to receive them, and they entered the hotel.

Through the entrance to the restaurant Honora caught sight of the red glow of candles upon the white tables, and heard the hum of voices.  In the hall, people were talking and laughing in groups, and it came as a distinct surprise to her that their arrival seemed to occasion no remark.  At the moment of getting out of the automobile, her courage had almost failed her.