She began to put on her clothes with cold and trembling hands. By the time she had finished, he was quite dressed and fumbling at the familiar hook for his overcoat and hat. Then he pulled down Rosaleen’s jacket.
“Here!” he said. “Put this on!”
“Oh, Lawrence!” she cried. “What——”
He lurched over to her and flung the jacket round her shoulders, and grasped her fiercely by the arm.
“Come on!” he said, with a laugh.
“Where?” she cried, but he did not answer.
He shut her into the cab, and spoke in a low tone to the driver; then he climbed in beside her, and they started off.
“Lawrence!” she entreated. “Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for! Please, Lawrence, tell me where we’re going!”
But he never said a word. He lighted a cigar and leaned back, smoking, with a smile on his face.
She shook him frantically, she implored him; a great terror had taken possession of her. She tried to open the door and jump out; she didn’t care if she were killed, so long as she could escape from this horribly smiling man. But he pulled her back with an oath.