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. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. Darrell's eyes were of that clear gray which it is difficult to distinguish from blue by day and black at night; and his rich brown hair, which he could not consent to part with, even on the promise of a new and modish peruke from his adoptive father, fell in thick glossy ringlets upon his shoulders; whereas Jack's close black crop imparted the peculiar bullet-shape we have noticed, to his head. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. He must know she’ll be at a convent.
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