“Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. 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. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. Before you have lived—” He became darkly prophetic. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. “Well, because I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool.
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