Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. “I’ll ruin your suit. “WHAT a place! “Stuffy isn’t the word for it. Have you seen much of her lately?” “Nothing at all,” he answered. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. A good deal of the food will be in tins. You are French?" "No. ". Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre.
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