"Pardon me, then—" I fumbled for my case of lucifers, and made a faint light by which she might read. The flare of the match lit up her face perfectly, bringing out the framing roll of thick dark hair, from which, as a high light in a mass of shadows, the clear and yet strong features of her face showed plainly. I saw the long lashes drooped above her dark eyes, as she bent over studiously. At first the inscription gave her no information. She pursed her lips and shook her head.
"I do not recognize the address," said she, smiling, as she turned toward me.
"Is it this door on M Street, as you go beyond this other street?" I asked her. "Come—think!"
Then I thought I saw the flush deepen on her face, even as the match flickered and failed.
I leaned out of the door and called to the negro driver. "Home, now, boy—and drive fast!"
She made no protest.
CHAPTER V
ONE OF THE WOMEN IN THE CASE
There is a woman at the beginning of all great things.
—Lamartine.