It was a mad half-hour. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. She snatched about in her mind. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. “He looks as though he did, at any rate.
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