Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. ” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling. “What was that?” she asked sharply. Look! Is that some one coming out?” The front door of the flats stood open, and through it a woman, slim and veiled, passed on to the pavement and turned with swift footsteps in the opposite direction. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth.
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