“Oh, I don’t mind, if you don’t!” sneered the taxi-driver....
“Have you got enough change?” she whispered into his ear, still giggling.
“It’s not a question of change,” whispered back Ivor, pulling out notes.
“Good-night, sir,” said the taxi-driver, with empressement. “Sorry to ’ave woken you.”
Ivor stared at him.
“Not at all,” he said.
“Good-night,” said Pamela Star.
The taxi hurled itself down the hill of Hertford Street towards the blind turning to Shepherd’s Market. It was an astonishing taxi.
“I never been in a taxi before,” said Pamela Star childishly.
As they walked back through the wide and sombre hall of stone Ivor suddenly stopped; she stopped too. The light of a great idea was in his eyes.