” Capes looked at his wife’s unsmiling face. ‘There are no Remenhams left. See the new litter of Mrs. ” “I haven’t told any one the amount,” he went on. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. She wished she had not stood up. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. She has married some one he could not approve of, and gone right away.
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