They were alone together in the taxicab, the one which had been waiting. Draycott had been left behind. There had been a brief discussion as to the address to which the man was to be told to drive.

"Where are we going?" she had asked him.

"You are perfectly well aware," he had told her in the grave tones which had seemed to have become habitual, "that I'm not a fit person for you to consort with. Let us say to each other all that there is to be said here; it shouldn't take very long, there is so little to be said; then let us part company--for ever."

"That is your opinion, is it? It's very nice of you to express it. Where are you living?"

"In a road near Clapham Junction--Lavender Sweep; a name which suggests possibilities--which don't go any farther than the name. It's a street of little houses."

"What is your number?"

"A hundred and ninety-seven."

She spoke to the cabman.

"Drive us to 197 Lavender Sweep, Clapham Junction." Then to Beaton: "Will you open the door for me?"

She entered. He spoke to her still standing on the pavement.

"You know you ought not to go there; it's not the sort of place to which you're accustomed."

"Then the sooner I become accustomed the better. Will you please get in?"

He got in; the cab started; as it has been written, they were alone in the cab together. Their conversation, especially at the beginning, was of a distinctly singular sort; as a matter of fact, she was enjoying herself immensely. It was many a day since she had even supposed it possible that she could enjoy herself so much.

"You don't seem to be particularly glad to see me."

"What right have I to be glad?"

"That's it--what right have you? That's a particularly sensible inquiry, which makes it the more awkward--for me--that I should be rather glad to see you. I imagine that these things are an affair of temperament."

"You are laughing at me."

"I don't know what else to do, since you certainly aren't laughing at me. You might be an owl for gravity. You sit screwed up there in your corner as if you were afraid you might be infected with something if you came within a quarter of a mile of me."

"Put it the other way. I don't wish to carry infection to you."

"Don't you? How nice! What sort of infection do you think you'd carry? I'd like, if I did ask you to come nearer, to know the risk I'd run."

"You know the kind of creature I am."

"The ignorance is on your side; you don't know the kind of creature I am. Do you know this is the very first time you and I have been alone together in a taxicab?" He was silent. A sound came from her which might have been a laugh. "You're full of conversation."

"I am so oppressed by the hideous consciousness of being in a false position."

"Are you? We'll talk about all that kind of thing when we get to 197 Lavender Sweep."

"You don't know what kind of place it is I live in."

"I soon shall."

"What would your uncle say if he knew you were coming alone with me to my wretched rooms?"

"My uncle and I are two; he lives at Nuthurst, and I live in town. I also have what you call wretched rooms--of my own. I would have asked the man to drive us there, only I thought I would prefer to go to yours, and I should; and I'm going. Is anything very terrible about your wretched rooms?"

"A person of my sort ought to be glad to live anywhere; especially after some of the places in which I have resided."

"I know all about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I've been told; but would you mind leaving all that sort of thing until we get to your--wretched rooms? Let us, while we are in the cab, be frivolous; couldn't you be frivolous?"

"I've forgotten how to be."

"I believe you smiled."

"If I did it was the sort of smile with which you meet the dentist when he's going to play tricks with your teeth."

"It's some time since I was frivolous; it's rather hard that now, after all this time, I'm in a mood to frivol, you won't. Couldn't you try? For instance, you seem to have forgotten that I possess a name; couldn't you start by calling me Violet? I suppose it would be too much to expect you to get as far, at the start, as Vi?" There was silence. "Well, are you trying?"

"I'm trying not to."

"Thank you very much; does it require much effort?"

"All my strength."

"Have you got much?"

"Very little."

"Indeed? Then, if you're going to use it in that direction, I hope you've none at all. It's rather fine weather for the time of the year, isn't it? Is that the sort of remark you would like me to make? Will it need all your strength to enable you to answer that?"

"I wish you'd let me stop the cab and get out."

"I shall do nothing of the sort. How dare you suggest it? I suppose you think you're going to keep on behaving to me like this. My dear Sydney--you see, I call you by your Christian name, and it doesn't need much trying--my darling Sydney, my well-beloved Sydney--I'm going to be Mary Janeish--do you think I don't know what is going on inside you? You'd give--shall I say twopence?--to put out your hand and touch mine which is lying there upon the seat. You can see it, although you're not looking and you pretend you can't. Sydney, won't you touch it--just once?"

"I won't."

"Thank you; that is frank, and so sweet of you. You think you are as hard--oh, harder than that; and I believe that you have got much harder than you used to be, but when I've really made up my mind you shall, you'll melt and become--oh, yes, much softer than that. How far is Lavender Sweep? I don't seem to find it easy to get much out of you in this silly cab; perhaps I may have better fortune when we get to your wretched rooms. Is it much farther?"

"Let's say all that there is to be said now. I wanted to say it before we got into the cab; it will only make it worse for both of us if we wait till we get to my rooms. You shan't go there. I won't have you."

"Won't you? How are you going to stop me?"

"By giving myself up to the next policeman we meet, if there is no other way; he'd think himself in luck to get me."

"Sydney!"

"It's the truth, and you know it. What's the good of either of us pretending that you don't?"

"Will you please say nothing else until we reach your rooms? I won't, and I'd rather you didn't either. I'm going with you to your rooms, and nothing you can say or do will stop me. Now will you please be silent till we get to 97 Lavender Sweep? I think that, while we're in this cab, I prefer your silence to your conversation."

She had her way; not a word was spoken on either side until the cab drew up in front of one of a long terrace of houses.