“To tell you the truth, I am a little dull. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. She could have kissed Cathy. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. A dressing-room then. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again. Some one may observe us. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out.
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