Her morose husband very seldom allowed her to take a cab.

He generally forced her to walk to the Casino and back.
Something of a philosopher was Madame Wachner, always accepting with eager, out-stretched hands that with which the gods provided her.
And all at once pretty Sylvia Bailey, though unobservant as happy, prosperous youth so often is, conceived the impression that her companion did not at all wish to discuss Anna's sudden departure.

Madame Wachner had evidently been very much annoyed by Anna's lack of civility, and surely the least Anna could have done would have been to send a message saying that it was impossible for her to come to supper at the Chalet des Muguets! "I am quite sure Anna did not mean to be rude, dear Madame Wachner," said Sylvia, earnestly.

"You know she may have sent you a letter or a message which miscarried.

They are rather careless people at the Pension Malfait." "Yes, of course, that is always possible," said the other rather coldly.
And then, as they came within sight of the Pension Malfait, Madame Wachner suddenly placed her large, powerful, bare hand on Sylvia's small gloved one.
"Look 'ere, my dear," she said, familiarly, "do not worry about Madame Wolsky.