His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. One point was that she was to wear fancy dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. . Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. ’ ‘Do you indeed?’ rejoined the old lady, twinkling at him, and urging him towards the door.
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