He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. I'll be quiet. Now, I'll be getting along. It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties. "Wretch!" cried Jack. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. " "I know; but …" "And sometimes you say out loud: 'That's great stuff!' I never make any sound. You must live for me. How came you by the hurt, eh?" "How did I come by it?—that's a nate question.
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