" He opened his eyes, to behold hers large with wonder. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. That terrible Young Person! she’s vanished. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. Not alone with her, that’s sure. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. I worshipped her and subdued myself.
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