A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
stern in the electric-light, his evening clothes in marked contrast to Bob's negligée. "In fact, I rather"
Dillon whistled a cab and gave the driver whispered directions. A bill fluttered as he passed it up. The man nodded, respectful.
"And now I am at your service," said Dillon, standing tall and straight before her. "Where did you wish to go?"
Not for one moment did it occur to him to evade his duty, and not for one moment did she intend that he should. Where they went, through all that nightmare evening, he could never afterward tell. From dance-hall to concert-hall they wandered, sat awhile, and departed. Nor were they silent on the way. What they spoke of he could not have told for his life, but they talked, fairly steadily at first, less and less as the night wore on, and the woman grew dreamily content with the lights, the warmth, and the liquor. Dillon was imperturbably polite, gravely attentive to her wishes, curiously conscious of one life with her and another distinct existence at Helena's home. Now he was waiting,
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