He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. “I hope that Mr. “P. I have been sitting with him ever since. "I beg your pardon!… A bit rocky this morning…. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. Probably a sick man's whim. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river.
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