"And hurry right back; I'm getting lonesome already."

He stepped out of the coupé. 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?"