Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. This obstacle being removed, in his eagerness to proceed, he had forgotten to take his little charge with him. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any policeman to direct her. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed.
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