There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. . ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. And the food! She and Marina had done most of the cooking at home.
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