She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely handsome, immobile profile. ” “Touch you I mean?” She looked around. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully.
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