She doesn't see the type--she
doesn't see the individual--she doesn't see the woman you meant.
She's out of it--she gives you a different person."
"Oh, the woman I meant!" the young man exclaimed, looking at the
London lamps as he rolled by them. "I wish to God she had known
YOU!" he added, as the carriage stopped. After they had passed into
the house he said to his companion:
"You see she WON'T pull me through."
"Forgive her--be kind to her!" Mrs. Alsager pleaded.
"I shall only thank her. The play may go to the dogs."
"If it does--if it does," Mrs. Alsager began, with her pure eyes on
him.
"Well, what if it does?"
She couldn't tell him, for the rest of her guests came in together;
she only had time to say: "It SHA'N'T go to the dogs!"
He came away before the others, restless with the desire to go to
Notting Hill even that night, late as it was, haunted with the sense
that Violet Grey had measured her fall. When he got into the street,
however, he allowed second thoughts to counsel another course; the
effect of knocking her up at two o'clock in the morning would hardly
be to soothe her.
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