he answered.

‘Right!’ she said. Then to the driver, ‘Wagstaff’s — Barton Street.’

The driver bowed his head, and put down the flag.

Gudrun entered the taxi, with the deliberate cold movement of a woman who is well-dressed and contemptuous in her soul. Yet she was frozen with overwrought feelings. Gerald followed her.

‘You’ve forgotten the man,’ she said cooly, with a slight nod of her hat. Gerald gave the porter a shilling. The man saluted. They were in motion.

‘What was all the row about?’ asked Gerald, in wondering excitement.

‘I walked away with Birkin’s letter,’