"Give me the link," cried Jonathan. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Cathy Beck was terribly upset and was on the verge of exploding. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. ’ ‘Grossly unfair, too. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence.
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