"You've but a sorry lodging, Mrs. “Ah, Vee,” he said, “that’s better! and kissed her back rather clumsily. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. ” She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed.
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