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She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will. You know—I worship you. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket.

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