” He handed her the phone reluctantly, barely masking his mild disgust. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. There is Lady Arlingford’s reception to-night, ten till twelve, and the Hatton House ball, marked with a cross, sir, important. She had agonized over it for weeks. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. I hate what I am. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. I’ll give you, say, thirty-five guineas a week clear of expenses, and half of anything you earn above the two turns a night.
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