"Stand here—in this corner—it's hidden from either door." He whispered the words, his lips brushing the soft hair drawn over her ears.
"Worth it—even if we're caught!" He said to himself with inward joy, conscious of the girl's hand, tightly clasped in his own.
They heard the heavy step pass and enter the room beyond; then a sound of men's voices broke across their strained attention.
McTaggart crept to the curtain that half veiled their hiding-place, then back to Cydonia, his smile showing his vast relief.
"He's talking to that artist chap. Now, softly into the passage, and then we'll make a bolt for it."
But he paused for a moment, very near her, his eyes on her frightened face.
"You dear thing—don't worry! I hate to see you look like that."
For a second's space he fought hard against the temptation of her answering smile. Then, drawing back, he led the way noiselessly into the hall.
The ruse succeeded, but outside a further problem awaited them. For Mason was "taking her time" conscientiously earning her tip.
"I can't leave you here alone." McTaggart's glance swept the street. "What shall we do? Walk to Marshall's? or—isn't that your car there?" He pointed out a landaulette, drawn up against the curb.