Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. “It’s—it’s a difficult question. “John, you were never bound to me, you don’t owe me anything. There all the loose characters thronged, assignations were openly made, and the spectators diverted themselves with the vagaries of its miserable inhabitants. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. So good an opportunity may never occur again. Jonathan had not deceived him. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life.
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