He stooped lower. The scent of her hair was in his nostrils. His reluctant arms went about her. Their embrace strengthened.
With a moan she lifted up her face, white and ghostly as the dawn that was all about them. In a frenzy of silent longing their lips met.
VII
With a jerk the cab drew up against the pavement. Tossing the reins on the horse's back, the driver was lumbering down. That Santa might have time to compose herself, Hindwood leaned quickly out, slamming the door behind him.
“Where've you brought us?”
“It's a good 'otel,” the man grumbled, on the defensive, staring at the gray cliff of shrouded windows. “It was a good 'otel you wanted. And then it's h'opposite the London Station where the train starts in the marnin'. It'll give the missis ten minutes extry in bed.”
“The missis!” Hindwood frowned. “If you refer to the lady who's with me, she's not my 'missis.'”
The man became sly. Stretching a fat finger along his nose, he edged nearer and whispered: “Between you and me that's h'alright. Wot wiv drivin' so many gentry from the Contingnong me own morals are almost foreign.”
Hindwood turned from him coldly. “You're on the wrong tack. And now how does one get into this hotel? Will they admit us at such an hour?”
“H'at h'all hours. H'absolutely h'at h'all hours.”