“My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. "Mr. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back. It is of no use.
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