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She could not help herself. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. The place was crowded, and the people about her were almost equally made up of very goodlooking and enthusiastic young people and a great variety of Goopes-like types. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it.
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