"Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. Now drop it. \"Really. . Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required.
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