out once more, and Dartie
thought: 'Ah! he's a poor, hungry-looking devil, that Bosinney!' and
again he pressed himself against Irene.

The movement deserved a better success. She rose, and they all followed
her.

The man of the world was more than ever determined to see what she was
made of. Along the terrace he kept close at her elbow. He had within him
much good wine. There was the long drive home, the long drive and the
warm dark and the pleasant closeness of the hansom cab--with its
insulation from the world devised by some great and good man. That
hungry architect chap might drive with his wife--he wished him joy of
her! And, conscious that his voice was not too steady, he was careful
not to speak; but a smile had become fixed on his thick lips.

They strolled along toward the cabs awaiting them at the farther end.
His plan had the merit of all great plans, an almost brutal simplicity he
would merely keep at her elbow till she got in, and get in quickly after
her.

But when Irene reached the cab she did not get in; she slipped, instead,
to the horse's head. Dartie was not at the moment sufficiently master of
his legs to follow. She stood stroking the horse's nose, and, to his
annoyance, Bosinney was at her side first. She turned and spoke to him
rapidly, in a low voice; the words 'That man' reached Dartie. He stood
stubbornly by the cab step, waiting for her to come back. He knew a
trick worth two of that!

Here, in the lamp-light, his figure (no more than medium height), well
squared in its white evening waistcoat, his light overcoat flung over his
arm, a pink flower in his button-hole, and on his dark face that look of
confident, good-humoured insolence, he was at his best--a thorough man of
the world.

Winifred was already in her cab. Dartie reflected that Bosinney would
have a poorish time in that cab if he didn't look sharp! Suddenly he
received a push which nearly overturned him in the road. Bosinney's
voice hissed in his ear: "I am taking Irene back; do you understand?" He
saw a face white with passion, and eyes that glared at him like a wild
cat's.

"Eh?" he stammered. "What? Not a bit. You take my wife!"

"Get away!" hissed Bosinney--"or I'll throw you into the road!"

Dartie recoiled; he saw as plainly as possible that the fellow meant it.
In the space he made Irene had slipped by, her dress brushed his legs.
Bosinney stepped in after her.

"Go on!" he heard the Buccaneer cry