at that world of blood-red mists, of unshapely, grotesque
buildings, of strange, tawdry colors; she listened to the medley
of sounds--crude, shrill, insistent, something like the groaning
of a world stripped naked--and she had all the time the air of
one who hates the thing she looks upon.

Tavernake, whose curiosity concerning his companion remained
unappeased, decided that the moment for speech had arrived. He
took a step forward upon the soft, pulpy leads. Even then he
hesitated before he finally committed himself. About his
appearance little was remarkable save the general air of
determination which gave character to his undistinguished
features. He was something above the medium height, broad-set,
and with rather more thick black hair than he knew how to arrange
advantageously. He wore a shirt which was somewhat frayed, and
an indifferent tie; his boots were heavy and clumsy; he wore also
a suit of ready-made clothes with the air of one who knew that
they were ready-made and was satisfied with them. People of a
nervous or sensitive disposition would, without doubt, have found
him irritating but for a certain nameless gift--an almost
Napoleonic concentration upon the things of the passing moment,
which was in itself impressive and which somehow disarmed
criticism.

"About that bracelet!" he said at last.

She moved her head and looked at him. A young man of less
assurance would have turned and fled. Not so Tavernake. Once
sure of his ground he was immovable. There was murder in her
eyes but he was not even disturbed.