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Page 2
"What! in this fog? And a lot I'd care if they did. Now, don't stir
till I come back; and above all, keep the light on."
"And hurry right back; I'm getting lonesome already."
He stepped out of the coup�. Harlequin, and Colombine, and
Humpty-Dumpty; shapes which came out of nowhere and instantly vanished
into nothing, for all the world like the absurd pantomimes of his
boyhood days. He kept close to the curb, scrutinizing the numbers as
he went along. Never had he seen such a fog. Two paces away from the
curb a headlight became an effulgence. Indeed, there were a thousand
lights jammed in the street, and the fog above absorbed the radiance,
giving the scene a touch of Brocken. All that was needed was a witch
on a broomstick. He counted five vehicles, and stopped. The
door-window was down.
"Miss Killigrew?" he said.
"Yes. Is anything wrong?"
"No. Just wanted to see if you were all right. Better let me take
your place and you ride with Mrs. Crawford."
"Good of you; but you've had enough trouble. I shall stay right here."
"Where's your light?"
"The globe is broken. I'd rather be in the dark. Its fun to look
about. I never saw anything to equal it."
"Not very cheerful. We'll be held up at least half an hour. You are
not afraid?"
"What, I?" She laughed. "Why should I be afraid? The wait will not
matter. But the truth is, I'm worried about mother. She would go to
that suffragette meeting; and I understand they have tried to burn up
the prime minister's house."
"Fine chance! But don't you worry. Your mother's a sensible woman.
She'll get back to the hotel, if she isn't there already."
"I wish she had not gone. Father will be tearing his hair and twigging
the whole Savoy force by the ears."
Crawford smiled. Readily enough he could conjure up the picture of Mr.
Killigrew, short, thick-set, energetic, raging back and forth in the
lobby, offering to buy taxicabs outright, the hotel, and finally the
city of London itself; typically money-mad American that he was.
Crawford wanted to laugh, but he compromised by saying: "He must be
very careful of that hair of his; he hasn't much left."
"And he pulls out a good deal of it on my account. Poor dad! Why in
the world should I marry a title?"
"Why, indeed!"
"Mrs. Crawford was beautiful tonight. There wasn't a beauty at the
opera to compare with her. Royalties are frumps, aren't they? And
that ruby! I don't see how she dares wear it!"
"I am not particularly fond of it; but it's a fad of hers. She likes
to wear it on state occasions. I have often wondered if it is really
the Nana Sahib's ruby, as her uncle claimed. Driver, the Savoy, and
remember it carefully; the Savoy."
"Yes, sir; I understand, sir. But we'll all be some time, sir.
Collision forward is what holds us, sir."
Alone again, Kitty Killigrew leaned back, thinking of the man who had
just left her and of his beautiful wife. If only she might some day
have a romance like theirs! Presently she peered out of the
off-window. A brood of _Siegfried_-dragons prowled about, now going
forward a little, now swerving, now pausing; lurid eyes and threatening
growls.
Once upon a time, in her pigtail days, when her father was going to be
rich and was only half-way between the beginning and the end of his
ambition, Kitty had gone to a tent-circus. Among other things she had
looked wonderingly into the dim, blurry glass-tank of the "human fish,"
who was at that moment busy selling photographs of himself. To-night,
in searching for comparisons, this old forgotten picture recurred to
her mind; blithely memory brought it forth and threw it upon the
screen. All London had become a glass-tank, filled with human
pollywogs.
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