One night Jean and I got a chance of a walk home from the theatre together, while she was at home ill. We came by a short cut through a mean street, lit only by an occasional lamp, and towered over my gaunt, stark walls. We were quite alone, for it was late and very dark, and the neighborhood had a dangerous reputation. There was no noise, save a faint flip flop of water and presently we came to a place where the rives was lazily licking a flight of stone steps. It was an eerie place, and I started nervously, brushing my shoulder against my companion. The next moment his arms were gripping me to him, and my lips had sought his. I was willing enough to have let him have me, there and then, but presently he pushed me from him.
“Little Darling,” he said, “next week my wife will not be with us. Shall we live in the same house?”
I said, “Yes,” with a kiss; and he saw me to my hotel door, and we parted.