On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. He turned back at once. So go up-stairs and get your things together while I look out for a hansom. ” “I haven’t told any one the amount,” he went on. He insisted once again on opening the car door for her. A paralyzing horror was upon her. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear.
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