“It’s hard luck,” said Crawford, sympathetically.  “It will be half an hour before they get this tangle straightened out.”

“I shouldn’t mind, Jim, if it weren’t for Kitty,” replied his wife.  “I am worried about her.”

“Well, I simply could not drag her into this coupe and get into hers myself.  She’s a heady little lady, if you want to know.  As it is, she’ll get back to the hotel quicker than we shall.  Her cab is five up.  If you wish, I’ll take a look in and see if she’s all right.”

“Please do;” and she smiled at him, lovely, enchanting.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in all this world!”

“Am I?”

Click!  The light went out.  There was a smothered laugh; and when the light flared up again, the aigrette in her copper-beech hair was all askew.

“If anybody saw us!”—­secretly pleased and delighted, as any woman would have been who possessed a husband who was her lover all his waking hours.

“What! in this fog?  And a lot I’d care if they did.  Now, don’t stir till I come back; and above all, keep the light on.”

“And hurry right back; I’m getting lonesome already.”

He stepped out of the coupe.  Harlequin, and Colombine, and Humpty-Dumpty; shapes which came out of nowhere and instantly vanished into nothing, for all the world like the absurd pantomimes of his boyhood days.  He kept close to the curb, scrutinizing the numbers as he went along.  Never had he seen such a fog.  Two paces away from the curb a headlight became an effulgence.  Indeed, there were a thousand lights jammed in the street, and the fog above absorbed the radiance, giving the scene a touch of Brocken.  All that was needed was a witch on a broomstick.  He counted five vehicles, and stopped.  The door-window was down.

“Miss Killigrew?” he said.

“Yes.  Is anything wrong?”

“No.  Just wanted to see if you were all right.  Better let me take your place and you ride with Mrs. Crawford.”

“Good of you; but you’ve had enough trouble.  I shall stay right here.”

“Where’s your light?”

“The globe is broken.  I’d rather be in the dark.  Its fun to look about.  I never saw anything to equal it.”

“Not very cheerful.  We’ll be held up at least half an hour.  You are not afraid?”

“What, I?” She laughed.  “Why should I be afraid?  The wait will not matter.  But the truth is, I’m worried about mother.  She would go to that suffragette meeting; and I understand they have tried to burn up the prime minister’s house.”

“Fine chance!  But don’t you worry.  Your mother’s a sensible woman.  She’ll get back to the hotel, if she isn’t there already.”

“I wish she had not gone.  Father will be tearing his hair and twigging the whole Savoy force by the ears.”

Crawford smiled.  Readily enough he could conjure up the picture of Mr. Killigrew, short, thick-set, energetic, raging back and forth in the lobby, offering to buy taxicabs outright, the hotel, and finally the city of London itself; typically money-mad American that he was.  Crawford wanted to laugh, but he compromised by saying:  “He must be very careful of that hair of his; he hasn’t much left.”