“Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. I have heard of you from my husband. Hill lost a little of his truculency. These things were common knowledge among the bon ton, who were generously welcoming these unfortunate escapees. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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