“You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. ” “Perhaps,” he said, “you had better let me have your key, and I will go up and explore. You need give yourself no more concern about Kneebone. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. 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.
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