She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me.
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