His face grew redder. Selina was a little worried about him. She thought, stupidly, that if it grew any redder
“Well, say, where d’ye think you are, peddlin’ without a license! A good mind to run you in. Get along out of here, you and the kid. Leave me ketch you around here again!”
“What’s the trouble, Officer?” said a woman's voice. A smart open carriage of the type known as a victoria, with two chestnut horses whose harness shone with metal. Spanking, was the word that came to Selina’s mind, which was acting perversely certainly; crazily. A spanking team. The spankers disdainfully faced Selina’s comic bony nags which were grazing the close-cropped grass that grew in the neat little lawn-squares between curb and sidewalk. “What's the trouble, Reilly?”
The woman stepped out of the victoria. She wore a black silk Eton suit, very modish, and a black hat with a plume.
“Woman peddling without a license, Mrs. Arnold. You got to watch 'em like a hawk. . . Get along wid you, then.” He put a hand on Selina’s shoulder and gave her a gentle push.
There shook Selina from head to foot such a passion, such a storm of outraged sensibilities, as to cause street, victoria, silk-clad woman, horses, and policeman to swim and shiver in a haze before her eyes. The rage of a fastidious woman who had had an alien male hand put upon her. Her face was white. Her
