ory of it haunted Ellen long afterward. It was as if the painted lips were really speaking and said, "The Babylon Arms is a preposterous pretentious place." And for the first time, perhaps, Ellen doubted the magnificence of that vast pile.
Her next speech was dictated by the careful precepts of Hattie Tolliver. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have fainted. . . . It ruined everything."
There was a stifled laugh from Sabine Cane. "Nonsense! It gave us a chance to get into the air."
Then silence once more and the echoing clop! clop! clop! clop! regular as the beams of light which flashed past the open door of Thérèse Callendar's cabriolet.
Long after midnight the carriage came to a halt before the gigantic Syrian lions of cast iron that ornamented the entrance to the Babylon Arms. It was young Callendar who descended first, lending his arm with a grave and alien grace to Ellen who, having recovered entirely, emerged with a sure and vigorous step. The third occupant, instead of remaining behind as she might well have been expected to do, followed them, driven by an overpowering desire to miss nothing. So with Ellen between them, Callendar in a top hat, and Sabine Cane, muffled in sables and holding her full yellow train high above the wet pavements, descended upon the astonished negro who ran the elevator.
Here Ellen bade them good night. "I'm all right now. . . . It was good of you to have come."
But they insisted upon accompanying her. There were protests, into which there entered a sudden note of desperation as if the girl were striving to conceal something which lay hidden at the top of the flamboyant apartment.
"But you might faint again," protested Sabine firmly. "I shan't be satisfied until I see you safe in your flat."
"Besides," observed young Callendar, smiling, "some day the Babylon Arms will be mine. I should like to see what it looks like, abovestairs."
