Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. ‘Oh, mon dieu. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. But anything is better than this. ’ For a moment he looked daunted. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. He moaned. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. For a time she furnished the flat. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. An Englishwoman.
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