She had arisen, and was now swaying as if in a dream. It flashed into her mind to wonder if it were hypnotism. She wanted to glance about her at the familiar objects of the room in order to identify herself with reality, but she could not take her eyes from his. Nor did she speak.
He had stepped beside her. His hand was on her arm, and she leaned toward him involuntarily. It was all part of the dream, and it was no longer hers to question anything. It was the great dare. He was right. She could dare what she wanted, and she did want. He was helping her into her jacket. She was thrusting the hat-pins through her hair. And even as she realized it, she found herself walking beside him through the opened door. The “Flight of the Duchess” and “The Statue and the Bust,” darted through her mind. Then she remembered “Waring.”
“ ‘What’s become of Waring?’ ” she murmured.
“ ‘Land travel or sea-faring?’ ” he murmured back.
And to her this kindred sufficient note was a vindication of her madness.
At the entrance of the building he raised his hand to call a taxi, but was stopped by her touch on his arm.
“Where are we going?” she breathed.
“To the Ferry. We’ve just time to catch that Sacramento train.”
“But I can’t go this way,” she protested. “I … I haven’t even a change of handkerchiefs.”
He held up his hand again before replying.