selves at Baldpate in the summer; if they heard the waltz in the casino, and the laughter of men in the grill-room.
Ten o'clock, said the town hall pompously. She was at the station now. In the room of her tears she was waiting; perhaps her only companion the, jacky of the "See the World" poster, whose garb was but a shade bluer than her eyes. Who was she? What was the bribe money of the Suburban Railway to her? Mr. Magee did not know, but he trusted her, and he was glad she had won through him. He saw Professor Bolton walk through the flickering half-light to join Myra Thornhill and Kendrick.
It must be half past by now. Yes—from far below in the valley came the whistle of a train.Now—she was boarding it. She and the money. Boarding it—for where? For what purpose? Again the train whistled.
"The siege," remarked Mr. Magee, "is more than half over, ladies and gentlemen."
The professor of Comparative Literature approached him and took a chair at his side.
"I want to talk with you, Mr. Magee," he said.
