“We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. “We’re here to take your foster daughter down to the station to ask her a few questions sir. Surely it was a dream. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. ” She spoke rather quickly, because she found her father’s question the most awkward she had ever had to answer in her life. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished.
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