“Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “Goodnight. My late husband, I mean. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. There was no one else in the doorway. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. “I am afraid,” he said to Anna afterwards, “that it was a mistake to order the champagne sec. She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be.
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