‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. He could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. That was something in his favour. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. “You are mistaken, David. “Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger.
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