This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. Mrs Sindlesham’s wrinkled cheek had paled, and her eyes were fixed upon Gerald in a look that wrung his heart.
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