She beat him furiously with her open hands. "Don't you touch me! You let me alone! Don't you touch me, you terrible, terrible, terrible"
"Open that door!" Tinker said sharply, and, as Olivia rushed to obey, he took his wife up in his arms as if she were of no weight at all, tossed her over his shoulder while she still beat him frantically, and strode out through the open doorway. Ogle, dumbfounded, had a last glimpse of them as they disappeared down an ill-lighted corridor toward a stairway: Mrs. Tinker's head and arms were swinging loosely upon the ruthless back of her husband, somewhat as if she had been a wild animal's skin worn by a savage chieftain. Her hair had come down, and she seemed in a state of collapse.
Olivia closed the door just as the concierge and an Arab dragoman opened the one opposite.
"Is something the matter?" the concierge inquired.
Olivia smiled pleasantly and shook her head. "No. Only some people laughing." And when the two men had withdrawn, she turned wanly to Ogle. "Too bad to let you in for this! But please do remember" She stopped and half laughed, half sobbed. "Poor Papa! He's so outrageous—and so"
