her. She gazed at the conflagration impersonally. She wondered if Monty had escaped or whether he had lost his life. She was strangely unmoved. She did not love him. She was sure of that. By living with him she had only taken the line of least resistance.
It was a wooden building, old and dry, a veritable tinder-box and the Fire-god smacked his lips as he devoured the tasty morsel. All Louella's possessions, her clothes, her jewels would be irrevocably lost. Fortunately she had her most valuable rings on her fingers. A costly breastpin and watch were in her pocketbook which she had had the foresight to bring with her. The pocketbook contained considerable ready cash and her check book. She also had savings accounts in banks in Chicago and Peoria. She had never closed out the account which she had opened while she was living with Hattie Holt. She was far from destitute even though all her clothes except those she wore were lost.
She smiled cryptically. Fate was pointing the way. Why not disappear now while the commotion was at its height? She would make no inquiries about Monty Camp. If he had been saved well and good. She would be glad. If he were dead there was no necessity for her to know it. There was a bare possibility that he hadn't been in the flat at all. He often rambled about town after she had retired. Why should she mourn for a man with whom she had lived too long in any case? She desired to be free, to get out of a humdrum rut even though it had been to a certain degree a pleasant one.
If Monty Camp were all right, he would not be surprised at her disappearance. He would naturally conclude that she had been burned to death while she slept. At least he would never bother looking for her. It was a grand finale to a mildly interesting play.
Perhaps in her decision she was hard and selfish. If so, what matter? Selfishness was the back-bone of civilization. It emphasized one's education.
Unperceived she slipped out of the crowd. Sie hired a hansom cab and drove down to the Palmer House. It would be
72
