She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. I want to be very plain with you. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. “Hello?” She asked as she cradled the phone by her ear. “Tell me more about this Martin Chen.
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