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It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here into Park Lane, or one of the Squares. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours. Looking at this girl, a sense of failure swept over him. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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