The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. You have actually given up a dinner-party to dine alone with me. Under happier circumstances nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have offered you a home with your sister. ” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. Fortescue, with a bow.
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