"Ride home with me; my cab's here somewhere."
"No, thanks. I've got a little thinking to do and prefer to be alone.
Good night."
"And good luck go with you. Deuce take it, if you feel so badly. . . ."
There was no reply; and Kitty decided that the younger man had gone on.
Silence; or rather, she no longer heard the speakers. Then a low
chuckle came to her and this chuckle broadened into ironic laughter;
and she knew that Mephisto was abroad. What had been the wager; and
what was the meaning of the six months? It is instinctive in woman to
interpret the human voice correctly, especially when the eyes are not
distracted by physical presentations. This man outside, whoever and
whatever he was, deep in her heart Kitty knew that he was not going to
play fair. What a disappointing world it was!--to set these human
voices ringing in her ears, and then to take them out of her life
forever!
Still the din of horns and whistles and sirens, still the shouting.
Would they never move on? She was hungry. She wanted to get back to
the hotel, to learn what had happened to her mother. Militant
suffragettes, indeed! A pack of mad witches, who left their brooms
behind kitchen doors when they ought to be wielding them about dusty
corners. Woman never won anything by using brickbats and torches:
which proved on the face of it that these militants were inefficient,
irresponsible, and unlearned in history. Poor simpletons! Had not
theirs always been the power behind the throne? What more did they
want?
Her cogitations were peculiarly interrupted. The door opened, and a
man plumped down beside her.
"Enid, it looks as if we'd never get out of this hole. Have you got
your collar up?"
Numb and terrified, Kitty felt the man's hands fumbling about her neck.
"Where's your sable stole? You women beat the very devil for
thoughtlessness. A quid to a farthing, you've left it in the box, and
I'll have to go back for it, providing they'll let me in. And it's
midnight, if a minute."
Pressing herself tightly into her corner, Kitty managed to gasp: "My
name is not Enid, sir. You have mistaken your carriage."
"What? Good heavens!" Almost instantly a match sparkled and flared.
His eyes, screened behind his hand, palm outward (a perfectly natural
action, yet nicely calculated), beheld a pretty, charming face, large
Irish blue eyes (a bit startled at this moment), and a head of hair as
shiny-black as polished Chinese blackwood. The match, still burning,
curved like a falling star through the window. "A thousand pardons,
madam! Very stupid of me. Quite evident that I am lost. I beg your
pardon again, and hope I have not annoyed you."