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"
The alcoholized domestic, by the way, was sent out, bag and
baggage, last evening, when she was sober enough to walk.
"And so it is a convenient opportunity," Judith continued,
ignoring my compliment--and rightly so; for as soon as it had
been uttered, I was struck by an uneasy conviction that she had
herself disturbed the French caterers in the Tottenham Court Road
from their Sabbath repose in order to provide me with food.
"I can shut up the flat without any fuss. I am never happy at
the beginning of a London season. I know I'm silly," she went
on, hurriedly. "If I could stand your dreadful Marcus Aurelius I
might be wiser--I don't mind the rest of the year; but in the
season everybody is in town--people I used to know and mix with
--I meet them in the streets and they cut me and it--hurts--and
so I want to get away somewhere by myself. When I get sick of
solitude I'll come back."
One of her quick, graceful movements brought her to her knees by
my side. She caught my hand.
"For pity's sake, Marcus, say that you understand why it is.


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