The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. “You stupid bitch. In your heart you know very well that this is absurd. He thought it best to let the matter drop. And in that respect they stir up one another. Her desires were not for riches. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study.
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