But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him. Ireton, you are in league with him. She chose to hold her nose. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. . We haven’t.
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