’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared. Horrid snorters! So long, Vee! Just suggested it. In worldly matters Gay was not fortunate. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. "So has the butterfly evil thoughts. He was even a little jealous of Sebastian.
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