They had never quarrelled and it would be delightful to
make up.
"Not Mrs. Talbot! No! Assuredly not!"
Involuntarily Madeleine raised her veil. She recognized the voice of
"Old" Ben Travers (he was only fifty but bald and yellow), the Union
Club gossip, and the one man in San Francisco she thoroughly
disliked. He stood with his hat in his hand, an expression of
ludicrous astonishment on his face.
"Yes, it is I," said Madeleine coolly. "And I am very much
interested."
"Ah? Interested?" He glanced about. If this were an assignation
either the man was late or had lost courage. But he assumed an
expression of deep respect. "That I can well imagine, cloistered as
you are. But, if you will permit me to say so, it is hardly prudent.
Surely you know that this is a place of ill repute and that your
motives, however innocent, might easily be misconstrued."
"I am alone!" said Madeleine gaily, "and my veil is up! Not a man
has glanced at me, I look so tiresomely respectable in these stout
walking clothes. Even you, dear Mr. Travers, whom we accuse of being
quite a gossip, understand perfectly."
"Oh, yes, indeed. I do understand. And Mrs. Talbot is like Caesar's
wife, but nevertheless--there is a hack. It is waiting, but I think
I can bribe him to take us in.
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