Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. Why did he imagine she was making this journey to England? She feigned interest. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. "On Friday," he replied. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. She parted the curtains to find him standing there. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way.
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