driving the big car on with growing speed, with eyes only for the road which his lamps retrieved from the dark. At each side of her was another man, an arm run through hers. The three men, their faces hidden from her, were as silent as the sleeping world through which they sped.
After her first frantic buffeting with superior force she had grown very quiet; after the first surge of fear had come anger to be followed by cool, calculating thought.
Now, no matter what appearances were or might be, she was suddenly assured of one fact which startled, then thrilled her strangely. This was obviously meant to appear the work of Bill Steele and she knew that appearances lied! A man had seized her rudely, another had cried, "Easy with her, Steele!" and she knew now that the man holding her then had not been Bill Steele! She had sensed it then even, now she knew. How does one know things like this? Earlier in the evening Steele himself had been briefly tricked by the masquerading Della … and then he had known. How and why? Because he loved her and there is a sixth sense? How now did she know so well that this was not Steele's work? First because it was not his way; not headlong, like him, smacking rather of cunning and deceit. And she would have known had it been Steele's arms about her… because she loved him!
While she sat breathing deeply the glorious truth flashed into her soul, turning its searchlight upon her own self, showing her her own long hidden heart's desire.
