“I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. “I believe so. ” She nodded. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. E. "All's bowman, my covey.
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