“Now,” she panted. “Let us start now.”
“Come,” he said.
They hurried out of the room and down the broad marble stairs to the hotel foyer as though fearing something was behind them to seize and hold them prisoner. The smug, well-dressed men and women who were lounging there staring listlessly at the rain, glanced up with a quicker interest in life at sight of their flushed cheeks and eager eyes. They caught in them the living fire which in their own breasts was ash-covered by the years.
The man at the swinging doors straightened at their approach.
“Shall I get you an umbrella, sir?”
“No,” answered Wilson, with a smile.
“It is raining hard, sir?”
“Yes, it is raining, thank God.”
They moved out upon the steps and the carriage porter put his whistle to his lips. Wilson shook his head and gripped the arm of the excited girl by his side.