But at the same moment the
barmaid addressed him.
'What is yours, Mr. Rodman?'
He shrugged his shoulders, muttered a strong expression, and turned
round again. The woman met his look steadily. She was perhaps
thirty, rather tall, with features more refined than her position
would have led one to expect. Her figure was good but meagre; her
cheeks were very thin, and the expression of her face, not quite
amiable at any time, was at present almost fierce. She seemed about
to say something further, but restrained herself.
Rodman recovered his good temper.
'How do, Clara?' he said, keeping his eye fixed on hers. 'I'll have
a drop of absinthe, if you please.'
Then he pursued his conversation with the two men. The woman, having
served them, disappeared. Rodman kept looking for her. In a few
minutes he pretended to recollect an engagement and succeeded in
going off alone. As he issued on to the pavement he found himself
confronted by the barmaid, who now wore a hat and cloak.
'Well?' he said, carelessly.
'Rodman's your name, is it?' was the reply.
'To my particular friends. Let's walk on; we can't chat here very
well.'
'What is to prevent me from calling that policeman and giving you in
charge?' she asked, looking into his face with a strange mixture of
curiosity and anger.
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