Ellsworth would say--and _do_--if she were taken off to
jail!
Annesley's heart seemed to drop out of its place, to go "crossways," as
her old Irish nurse used to say a million years ago.
Without stopping to think again, or even to breathe, she flew back to the
hotel entrance, as a migrating bird follows its leader, and slipped
through the revolving door behind the fugitives.
"It's fate," she thought. "This must be a _sign_ coming just when I'd
made up my mind."
Suddenly she was no longer afraid, though her heart was pounding under
the thin cloak. Fragrance of hot-house flowers and expensive perfume from
women's dresses intoxicated the girl as a glass of champagne forced upon
one who has never tasted wine flies to the head. She felt herself on the
tide of adventure, moving because she must; the soul which would have
fled, to return to Mrs. Ellsworth, was a coward not worthy to live in her
body.
She had room in her crowded mind to think how queer it was--and how queer
it would seem all the rest of her life in looking back--that she should
have the course of her existence changed because burglars had broken some
panes of glass in the Strand.
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