Let me walk you to the door. “I have made no arrangements as yet— none at all. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. ‘Alors, what advantages?’ ‘But think,’ he said earnestly, moving a little closer.
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