” “It isn’t that you’re splendid or I,” said Capes. After all, she was a consummate actress. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. Near by stood Ah Cum and the young unknown, the former protesting gently, the latter insistent upon his demands. Preparations were next made for taking Thames on board. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter of hairs and big as life and death. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Kneebone took his leave. “Quite right,” she said.
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