CHAPTER V
A HEROIN HEROINE
I STOPPED the taxi in the Place du Tertre. We wanted
to walk along the edge of the Butte and let our gaze
wander over Paris.
The night was delicious. Nowhere but in Paris does
one experience that soft suave hush ; the heat is dry,
the air is light, it is quite unlike anything one ever
gets in England.
A very gentle breeze, to which our fancy attributed
the redolence of the South, streamed up from the Seine.
Paris itself was a blur of misty blue; the Pantheon
and the Eiffel Tower leapt from its folds. They seemed
like symbols of the history of mankind; the noble,
solid past and the mechanical efficient future.
I leant upon the parapet entranced. Lou's arm was
around my neck. We were so still that I could feel her
pulses softly beating.
“Great Scott, Pendragon ! ”’
For all its suggestion of surprise, the voice was low
and winsome. I looked around.
Had I been asked, I should have said, no doubt,
that I should have resented any disturbance ; and here
was a sudden, violent, unpleasant disturbance; and
it did not disturb me. There was a somewhat tentative
smile on the face of the man who had spoken. I
recognised him instantly, though I had not seen him
since we were at school together. The man’s name
was Elgin Feccles. He had been in the mathematical
sixth when I was in the lower school.
In my third term he had become head prefect ; he
had won a scholarship at Oxford—one of the best
things going. Then, without a moment’s warning, he had
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