"You'll be going out as soon as you've changed, dear?" she said affectionately to Agg.
"Yes," answered Agg, who at the mirror was wiping from her face the painted signs of alcoholism. She had thrown
off the bag wig. "You'd better take the key with you. You'll be back before I am." She sat down on one of the draped settees which were beds in disguise, and Marguerite got a hat, cloak, and gloves.
While George was resuming his overcoat, which Marguerite held for him, Agg suddenly sprang up and rushed towards them.
"Good night, Flora Macdonald," she murmured in her deep voice in Marguerite's ear, put masculine arms round her, and kissed her. It was a truly remarkable bit of male impersonating, as George had to admit, though he resented it.
Then she gave a short, harsh laugh.
"Good night, old Agg," said Marguerite, with sweet responsiveness, and smiled ingenuously at George.
George, impatient, opened the door, and the damp wind swept anew into the studio.
IV
It was a fine night; the weather had cleared, and the pavements were drying. George, looking up in a pause of the eager conversational exchanges, drew tonic air mightily into his lungs.