“But I’m alone.”
“So much the better.”
“Well, I like your cheek!”
“You like the whole of me; so you may as well own up to it, and be done.”
“Rats! You only come here when you want something done. It isn’t me you come to see.”
“I’ll come to see you some other time. Just throw something on, and let me in.”
“‘Throw something on,’ indeed! I’ll throw something on you, and that’ll be hot water, the next time you come bothering about at this hour. Oh, well, never mind; you’re not a bad sort. Come in.”
The door opened, Miss L’Estrange fled, and David went into the drawing-room, where he waited some minutes till she reappeared, looking fresh and washed from the night’s stage-paint, with something voluminous wrapped about her.
“Now, what is it?” said she. “Straight to the point—that’s me.”
“You must give me Strauss’s address,” said David.