“What a glorious night it has been!” said Glory, going upstairs.
“I'm glad you think so,” said Polly. “To tell you the truth, I found it dreadfully tiresome.”
The two men lit their cigarettes and got back into one of the hansoms and drove away.
“What a bear that man is!” said Lord Robert.
“Rude enough, certainly,” said Drake; “but I liked his face for all that; and if the Fates put it into his head to stand between me and death—well, I'm not going to forget it.”
“Give him a wide berth, dear boy. The fellow is an actor—an affected fop. I met him at Mrs. Macrae's on Thursday. He is a religious actor and a poseur. He'll do something one of these days, take my word for it.”
And meanwhile John Storm had buttoned his long coat up to his throat and was striding home through the echoing streets, with both hands clinched and his teeth set hard.