“You will have some tea?” she asked. His hand flew across the paper. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. That added to his puzzle. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. The doctor would naturally offer a hundred objections; he might seriously interfere; so he must be forestalled. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. We are expecting a visit from Sir John Ferringhall at any moment. ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather.
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