” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. ‘Now then, missie. I fought ten lions at once. I love some one else. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. If I were a clean, free man—We’ll have to talk of all these things. That is my real milieu, and one that I am convinced you would not only adorn but delight in. Spurling.
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