She had decided that she would spend the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed. He dropped the key on the counterpane. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. There was a little pain, but it wasn’t anything. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door.
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