“My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. “What has he done? “What shall I do. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. I do not know. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. But the fall was too great, and he abandoned the attempt.
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