“Her guardian! He’s not her father, then?”
“No! It was either her guardian or her uncle! I am not sure which. By Jove! There they go! They’re off.”
They both hurried to the cloak-room for their coats, and reached the street in time to see the people in whom they were so interested coming down the stairs towards them. In the glare of the electric light, the girl’s pale, upraised face shone like a piece of delicate statuary. To Densham, the artist, she was irresistible. He drew Harcutt right back amongst the shadows.
“She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life,” he said deliberately. “Titian never conceived anything more exquisite. She is a woman to paint and to worship!”
“What are you going to do now?” Harcutt asked drily. “You can rave about her in your studio, if you like.”
“I am going to find out where she lives, if I have to follow her home on foot! It will be something to know that.”
“Two of us,” Harcutt protested. “It is too obvious.”
“I can’t help that,” Densham replied. “I do not sleep until I have found out.”
Harcutt looked dubious.