But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. He was not used to not getting his way. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. Stanley, at the door. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. ’ ‘Also madame his wife—’ Charvill’s gorge rose. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known.
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