As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. The expression pervading the countenance of the one was vulgarity; of the other, that which is rarely found, except in persons of high birth. It’s a sort of guarantee of confidence. But, by Jove! you are fierce! You are like those Roman women who carry stilettos in their hair.
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