In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. The crash was tremendous. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last. I’ll buzz him for you. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. ” “It was an inspiration—your speaking to him?” “I felt impudent.
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