He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. ” Anna tried to look angry, but her mouth betrayed her. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. “Showtime!” Martin cried. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries.
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