The same people were always asked to meet her: Winifred
Dartie and her husband; Francie, because she belonged to the artistic
circles, for Mrs. MacAnder was known to contribute articles on dress
to 'The Ladies Kingdom Come'; and for her to flirt with, provided they
could be obtained, two of the Hayman boys, who, though they never said
anything, were believed to be fast and thoroughly intimate with all that
was latest in smart Society.
At twenty-five minutes past seven she turned out the electric light
in her little hall, and wrapped in her opera cloak with the chinchilla
collar, came out into the corridor, pausing a moment to make sure she
had her latch-key. These little self-contained flats were convenient; to
be sure, she had no light and no air, but she could shut it up whenever
she liked and go away. There was no bother with servants, and she never
felt tied as she used to when poor, dear Fred was always about, in his
mooney way. She retained no rancour against poor, dear Fred, he was
such a fool; but the thought of that actress drew from her, even now, a
little, bitter, derisive smile.
Firmly snapping the door to, she crossed the corridor, with its gloomy,
yellow-ochre walls, and its infinite vista of brown, numbered doors.
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