” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said. She entered the room in the shadows. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. A fortnight passed, then a month. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. " "Not now," returned Thames, impatiently. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly.
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