She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. But if you wish to do old Wood a friendly turn, you may bring his wife. It took my breath away. “Come right in,” he hissed under his breath, with the true conspirator’s note, closed the door very softly and pointed, “Through there!” By the meagre light of a gas lamp she perceived a cobbled yard with four large furniture vans standing with horses and lamps alight. He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament.
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