These several
conclusions dictated a single course; avoidance of Gianapolis in future.
Fortunately, Helen Cumberly's self-chosen path in life had taught her
how to handle the nascent and undesirable lover. She chatted upon
the subject of art, and fenced adroitly whenever the Greek sought
to introduce the slightest personal element into the conversation.
Nevertheless, she was relieved when at last she found herself in the
familiar Square with her foot upon the steps of Palace Mansions.
"Good night, Mr. Gianapolis!" she said, and frankly offered her hand.
The Greek raised it to his lips with exaggerated courtesy, and retained
it, looking into her eyes in his crooked fashion.
"We both move in the world of art and letters; may I hope that this
meeting will not be our last?"
"I am always wandering about between Fleet Street and Soho," laughed
Helen. "It is quite certain we shall run into each other again before
long. Good night, and thank you so much!"
She darted into the hallway, and ran lightly up the stairs. Opening the
flat door with her key, she entered and closed it behind her, sighing
with relief to be free of the over-attentive Greek. Some impulse
prompted her to enter her own room, and, without turning up the light,
to peer down into the Square.
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