"I really do. I hope you will be kind enough to--to--please
me."
He looked very kindly at her. "My dear," he said, "of course I shall. Be
quite easy about it." He held out his hand. "Good night, Mary."
She took it, but didn't meet his look. "Good night," she said, and drove
away without another signal.
Senhouse, shouldering his bundle, found the lady's maid, and gave her her
sailing orders. His manner to her was exactly that which he had shown to
the mistress, easy, simple, and good-humoured. Leaving her, he went a
leisurely way through the press, and took a tram-car from the corner of
Vauxhall Bridge Road in the direction of Battersea.
II
Senhouse, after a night of solitary musing upon certain waste places known
best to outlanders, walked up Saint James's Street at six o'clock in the
morning, talking lightly and fiercely to himself. A long life of
loneliness had given him that habit incurably. Discovering the hour by a
clock in Piccadilly, he realised that it was too early to wait upon Mrs.
Germain in Albemarle Street, so continued his way up the empty hill,
entered the Park, and flung himself upon the turf under the elms. Other
guests were harboured by that hospitable sward, shambling, downcast lice
of the town.
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