“‘Yes.’
“That was all. We both made our explanations—I to Bob, she to her husband. I didn’t see her again that evening; I’ve never seen her since. Dead!”
He got up hurriedly and looked round for his hat.
“See after her,” he said huskily, jerking his head toward pretty Carrie, “I can’t—to-night. Take her to a music hall—anything.”
He went away abruptly, leaving me a fair field. He was bent as he walked. He looked too old for the Inn; we don’t want graybeards.
“What’s up with him?” demanded Carrie.
“Liver. Have some more champagne?”
I caught up the bottle.
“No, thanks.” She snatched her glass away and the wine slobbered out on the cloth.
“Who was she?” she persisted. “I don’t care a brass farthing. She’d be as old as the hills, if she was alive. But—who was she?”