“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. The discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter. And this is not France, you understand. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. May we not repeat them once, at any rate, in London? “Ever yours, “NIGEL ENNISON. ” “Madman!” “Blithering ass!” The girl looked into the two indignant faces and held out both her hands.
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