“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
Should he keep the appointment? Could he do so, just having left the girl he was going to marry, with the touch of her lips still lingering upon his? He shook his head. No, let her go! That passage in his sailor life was well over. Besides, the fact of his new position in society at large would lead her surely into some ridiculous stage business, and he hated all that sort of gush!
Poor Mrs. Trevelyan! Yet, she had her good points well as her bad. Should he judge her too harshly? If you only knew would n’t you find some reason for her being the way she was? He had really liked her—until last evening. She should n’t have tried that—no, she should n’t have tried that! It was better to leave things as they were.
The cab rumbled on down the avenue, through unending side streets, across car tracks and cobble stones, until it stopped in front of the big pier with its flashing rows of myriad electric lights.
“Wait a minute,” said Micky as he climbed out. “I ’ll be back in a minute and give you the money.”
298
