He did not try to detain her.
“What a sweet face. What lovely eyes,” he said, and the sight of her little breast rising and falling with emotion as she spoke, appealed to more than the artist in him.
“Now which is it?” he said aloud. “You blackguard, is this going to be a dream to think of and something on the credit side, or a mere seduction? You devil, I never know which way the balance will turn.”
He went slowly into the town, the vision with him all the way.
“Mr. Desmond, there is a Mrs. Wheatland to see you,” said the head waiter deferentially.
“Oh! Damn!” said he, “that spoils the vision beautiful. All right, show her to my sitting room.”
A young woman was ushered in, with a fascinating rather than pretty face, one who, a keen judge would have said, would not stand the wear and tear of life for long. The hands and feet were large, and though at present she was in the glory of early womanhood, there were unmistakable signs of latent vulgarity.
She came forward at once, and flung her arms round the man’s neck, and almost smothered him.
“Oh, Hugh! I have found you at last. Where have you been all this time? I have been longing for you. And my husband is getting worse than ever. I could just bear with him until I met you, but since then everything has been so different, and he is so common, so plebeian. But what is the matter, dear? You don’t seem glad to see me?”
“Of course I am, Winnie, but you have taken me by surprise,” he said disengaging himself. “I am delighted to see you, but you know it is dangerous coming here.”