"The gentleman under the table," she answered. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. Wood. Can you inform us whence it came?" "I should think so. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. She intercepted the glance the spinsters exchanged, and immediately sensed that she had said too much. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. “I don’t believe there is one.
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