Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. She was curious to know why he had boarded a dingy train instead of hailing a cab or his own private chauffeur like the others in expensive suits were doing. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. An incredible road he had elected to travel; he granted that it was incredible; and along this road somewhere would be Desire. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. I can keep you. "Do you know anything further of Sir Rowland?" he asked. “To be frank with you, Lady Lescelles, when your brother asked me the other day to be his wife I was under a false impression as regards his relations—with some other person. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels.
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