"Now, step this way, Mr. Spurling in alarm. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. Yon must be mine to-night. ’ He turned to the lodgekeeper behind him, whose shocked fear had given place to a direful frown. We thought of starting in half an hour’s time, and trying for a theatre somewhere on the way. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. They were sure to catch up with her. Dolby smiled. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls.
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