Passed by Crane through the police lines but pursued by jeers and cat-calls of the crowd which had collected, Lanyard and Folly hurried round the corner into Sixth avenue, and there by good fortune picked up a cab almost at once. This they would hardly have needed but for the drizzle, which had set in again: Folly McFee, it appeared, lived in the lower Fifties, just east of Park avenue. Learning which, Lanyard hushed a sigh of content: the shorter the drive, the better. This latter part of his evening had exhilarated him not at all; and though the woman at his side was charming enough in her way, nothing would please him more than to see the last of her and be free to trot home to his dreams of Eve. In fact, he found himself surprisingly sleepy, considering the hour, which, according to a street clock on Fifth Avenue, still lacked a few minutes of two: so swift had been the transaction of events since his meeting with Liane Delorme.
A plaintive sigh from the other corner of the seat recalled him.
"You are tired, madame?" he enquired of the small figure huddled in that magnificent panoply of fur.
Passing lights fitfully revealed a petulant face to match Folly's tone: "More disgusted than tired. I'm so awfully grateful, and you've been such a perfect brick to me, Mr. Lanyard, it makes me sick to have you think me a little fool."
"But I assure you, I do not think anything of the sort."
"You forget what you said, back there in the Clique Club, about it's being a fad of mine to live up to my name."
"That would be unforgiveable were it open to the construction you put on it, madame. What I said was——"
"I know perfectly well what you said, at least what you meant: that I ought to have known better than to be there at all. But I don't see why."
"I should like very much to tell you, if I might without seeming to presume . . ."
"But I want you to tell me, Mr. Lanyard; I don't want to do things that make people think it's a fad of mine—"