She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. “It is unimportant,” she said. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. . They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. " "Suffer me to proceed," replied the stranger.
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