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‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. There was—a service. . Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. His lips were tight drawn. ‘I think you know my affianced husband. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. Not at all. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms.
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