Mr. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any. “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. People who would not go. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance.
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