” “Why do you think so?” she asked. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. It was better even than the hymn-singing. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Mirrors. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. ’ Gerald laughed. ’ ‘It is true,’ insisted the lady. And then suddenly—a relief. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. I'm not interested in him. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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