Gerald frowned. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. I stole away and walked to the railway station. He suspected a trap. Gerald took Madame’s hand and kissed the fingers with a little more warmth than punctilio demanded. It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. .
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