“I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. ‘But to do only what one wishes, it is not always convenient. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. “Yes.
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