” Drummond looked up with mock eagerness. Spurling had retired for the night. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. " "Oh. You are afraid of the warmth in your blood. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. Some of my schemes are already in hand. . She took up a book and threw it down again.
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