laughing. 'You've got to shout to Hibbert, his mind's so full of his work.'
'He works too hard,' suggested the first, 'full of queer ideas and dreams.'
But Hibbert's silence was not rudeness. He had not caught the invitation, that was all. The call of the hotel-world had faded. He no longer heard it. Another wilder call was sounding in his ears.
For up the street he had seen a little figure moving. Close against the shadows of the baker's shop it glided—white, slim, enticing.
