” “I am staying,” she answered coolly, “at a small boarding-house near Russell Square. I am having them to my own soirée on Monday. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. “Who’s your violin teacher?” He asked. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. I don’t care if you never tell me any of your secrets. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. htm or 26596-h.
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