The tall, bronzed man then proceeded to survey the circle of interested bystanders at a dignified leisure, and said in the same tone, “Suppose we send round the hat?”
Removing his own immaculately-ironed silk head-gear, he proceeded with an air of exaggerated self-possession, which the conspiracy of the circumstances rendered bizarre, to drop several pieces of gold into its interior, and then, standing bare-headed, so that the sleet glistened upon the pomatum of his hair, handed his hat to a man near to him, who was of a similar type to himself. However, while this gentleman, also with extraordinary nonchalance, was adding further pieces of gold to the hat, this somewhat impressive munificence was frustrated.
The half-naked beggar appeared suddenly to realize that he was the cynosure of all eyes. He gave a gaunt look all about him, and then, with a motion of indescribable rapidity, he passed through the ring that had been formed. With a swiftness so great that his flight could hardly be followed, the mists of the evening received him.
The bare-headed man gave a glance of courteous deprecation, which almost took the form of a personal apology, to the man who was placing pieces of gold in his hat.
“Rather a pity,” he said; “rather a pity to let him go.”
“Yes, a pity,” said the other, wiping a speck of sleet off the brim of the hat very carefully with his glove, and handing it back.
As with an air of disappointment the crowd dispersed reluctantly, the slight, youthful, handsome woman turned with an eager gesture to the owner of the hat. Her cheeks, under their powder, were the colour of snow.
“Did you—did you see his face?” said she in quick, nervous accents. “I shall carry it to my grave. It was—it was the most beautiful face in the world.”
The owner of the hat gave the woman a little smile of affectionate indulgence, in which, however, pride was uppermost, and handed her very carefully into a hansom.