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Eva's father was a colliery manager who lived on the outskirts of Silverhays. "I've got a piece of news," said Eva. "Yes?" said Mary Morfe Mr Morfe was taciturn. He stooped to nourish the fire. "About Mr Loggerheads," said Eva, and stared straight at Mary Morfe. "About Mr Loggerheads!" Mary Morfe echoed, and stared back at Eva.
The clock showed three minutes past nine. The electric cars to and from the town of Turnhill were rumbling past the very door of the Morfes every five minutes, and would continue to do so till midnight. But Silverhays is a mining village a couple of miles beyond Turnhill, and the service between Turnhill and Silverhays ceases before ten o'clock.
"I can't stop," said she, glancing at the clock immediately in front of her eyes. "I must catch the last car for Silverhays." "You've got twenty minutes yet," said Mr Morfe. "Because," said Eva, "I don't want that walk from Turnhill to Silverhays on a dark night like this." "No, I should think not, indeed!" said Mary Morfe. "You've got a full twenty minutes," Mr Morfe repeated.
Obviously there was only one course open to a gallant man whose clock was to blame: namely, to accompany Eva Harracles to Turnhill by car, to accompany her on foot to Silverhays, then to walk back to Turnhill and come home again by car. A young woman could not be expected to perform that bleak and perhaps dangerous journey from Turnhill to Silverhays alone after ten o'clock at night in November.
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