“Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. Rituals instead of medicines. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park.
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