At that moment as he stood looking over the horse into the dimly-lit obscurities of the Square he thought with a sudden beating of the heart that he recognised Cardillac looking at him from the doorway of a neighbouring restaurant. Then the figure was gone. He had got Cardillac on the brain! Nevertheless the suggestion made him suddenly conscious of poor Miss Bennett's enormous hat, her rouge, her soiled finery that allowed no question as to her position in the world.
Rather hurriedly he asked her to get into the cab.
“Come that far—” she said.
He got in with her and she took off one glove and he held her hand and they didn't speak all the way.
When the hansom stopped at last he got down, helped her out and for a moment longer held her hand.
“We're both pretty unhappy,” he said. “Things have been going wrong with me too. But think of Cornwall sometimes and remember there's some one else thinking of it.”
“You're a funny kid,” she said, looking at him, “sentimental, I don't think!”
But it was her eyes—tired and regretful that said goodbye.
She let herself in and the door closed behind her.
He turned and walked the streets; it was three o'clock before he reached his home.