The Rustle of Silk

The man had followed her from Marble Arch not a mackerel-eyed old man sensual and without respect but one who responded to emotions as an artist and was still young and still interested. He had seen her descend from a motor omnibus had caught his breath at her disturbing femininity had watched her pass like a sunbeam on the garden side of the road, and in the spirit of a man who sees the materialization of the very essence of woman, turned and followed.