"Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. “You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes. In a few minutes, an appalling change was perceptible. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. "To-morrow I will take you to him.
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