H. Bedford-Jones

“ It was "La Paloma" they played, and Quentin suddenly decided that the air was not so hackneyed, after all; indeed, this girl on his arm seemed to him not a little like a helpless dove—and to curb the sentimental influence of the night and the thought, he led her to a seat close by.
"Physician's orders—moonlight and music," he laughed. "Ten to one the Mathews people will be doing likewise, if they've come home. If not, there's no hurry." ”

“ She nodded smilingly, and Quentin departed to the lobby. Here he registered, got a room not far from that of Enid, and sent a wire to his housekeeper, instructing her to wire him twenty dollars that night without fail. So, with his immediate future provided for, he returned to the dining room, and in ten minutes left the hotel with Enid on his arm.
As he helped her into the car at the incline, he forgot that conversation on the glass-bottomed launch, the loss of his pocketbook, and his fleeting doubts. She settled near him with a shivery fear as the car began to lift. ”

“ After all, Burlington might not be over in the morning, and Mathews would be easily able to handle the legal difficulties of the girl's situation. In any case, he himself had three days to spare, and he could remain and take care of Enid, if necessary.
"I feel unaccountably like a thief," he laughed under his breath, as he flashed the light across the door again and closed the screen.
"It does feel silent and deserted." She shivered a little. ”