“Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. Then she reverted to the trousers. Entranced, he stared at the name. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. Presently. “Go from me, husband!” With a flourish he brought her arms behind her and her body was slammed to the floor. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. . He was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. m.
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