“You will have some tea?” she asked. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. ” Her first upward glance was one of terrified apprehension. "More slang," he said. I knew it. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. I am bothered. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity.
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