The two great hotels on their right were still ablaze with lights. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. I hate this part of the world. He drove it into her missionary style, and though he was worried about hurting her, he could not stop himself from thrusting into her deeply. ‘Go then. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Profligate women are never reclaimed.
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