Every window in the public house was filled with guests; and, as in the case of St. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. Come and have lunch with me. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. She smiled at the sight of him, and thereat his radiation increased. You don’t understand the fix I am in. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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