He stepped quickly towards her. I had to ask Mr. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own. “What’s that for?” He said. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Businesswomen in pointy-toed shoes swooned coyly in his direction, tipping their noses over their glossy magazines to admire 273 him. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly.
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