The Voice in the Fog - Page 5/93

"Ride home with me; my cab's here somewhere."

"No, thanks. I've got a little thinking to do and prefer to be alone.

Good night."

"And good luck go with you. Deuce take it, if you feel so badly. . . ."

There was no reply; and Kitty decided that the younger man had gone on.

Silence; or rather, she no longer heard the speakers. Then a low

chuckle came to her and this chuckle broadened into ironic laughter;

and she knew that Mephisto was abroad. What had been the wager; and

what was the meaning of the six months? It is instinctive in woman to

interpret the human voice correctly, especially when the eyes are not

distracted by physical presentations. This man outside, whoever and

whatever he was, deep in her heart Kitty knew that he was not going to

play fair. What a disappointing world it was!--to set these human

voices ringing in her ears, and then to take them out of her life

forever!

Still the din of horns and whistles and sirens, still the shouting.

Would they never move on? She was hungry. She wanted to get back to

the hotel, to learn what had happened to her mother. Militant

suffragettes, indeed! A pack of mad witches, who left their brooms

behind kitchen doors when they ought to be wielding them about dusty

corners. Woman never won anything by using brickbats and torches:

which proved on the face of it that these militants were inefficient,

irresponsible, and unlearned in history. Poor simpletons! Had not

theirs always been the power behind the throne? What more did they

want?

Her cogitations were peculiarly interrupted. The door opened, and a

man plumped down beside her.

"Enid, it looks as if we'd never get out of this hole. Have you got

your collar up?"

Numb and terrified, Kitty felt the man's hands fumbling about her neck.

"Where's your sable stole? You women beat the very devil for

thoughtlessness. A quid to a farthing, you've left it in the box, and

I'll have to go back for it, providing they'll let me in. And it's

midnight, if a minute."

Pressing herself tightly into her corner, Kitty managed to gasp: "My

name is not Enid, sir. You have mistaken your carriage."

"What? Good heavens!" Almost instantly a match sparkled and flared.

His eyes, screened behind his hand, palm outward (a perfectly natural

action, yet nicely calculated), beheld a pretty, charming face, large

Irish blue eyes (a bit startled at this moment), and a head of hair as

shiny-black as polished Chinese blackwood. The match, still burning,

curved like a falling star through the window. "A thousand pardons,

madam! Very stupid of me. Quite evident that I am lost. I beg your

pardon again, and hope I have not annoyed you."