But the lady was looking at him, and she now dropped her cup with a crash to the pavement.
"There's a go," said the sharp-featured youth. "You're a nice one, you are!"
Without regarding his protest, the lady violently wrenched her arm from
Julian's grasp and recoiled from the stall.
"Le-go my arm," she babbled hysterically. "Le-go, I say. I can't stand any more—no, I can't."
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Julian, astonished at her outburst.
But she only repeated vehemently:
"Let go, let me go!"
Backing away, she trod the fallen coffee-cup to fragments on the pavement, and began to drift down Piccadilly, her face under the feathers set so completely round over her shoulder, in observation of Julian, that she seemed to be promenading backwards. And as she went she uttered deplorable wailing sounds, which gradually increased in volume. Apparently she considered that her life had been in imminent danger, and that she saved herself by shrieks; for, still keeping her face toward the coffee-stall, she faded away in the morning, until only the faint noise of her retreat betokened her existence any longer.
The sharp-featured youth winked wearily at Julian from the midst of his grove of coffee-cups.
"Nice things, women, sir," he ejaculated. "Good ayngels the books calls 'm. O Gawd!"