“Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. Any financial return was inconsiderable against the promise of this psychological treat. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again. Ah Cum presented his black-bordered card to such individuals as seemed likely to require his services. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky.
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