He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. "Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. He jumped back, cursing. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. Anna jumped into a waiting hansom. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. The kiss was powerfully moving. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
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