Jonathan had to feel his way. He grasped Lucilla’s elbow. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. Griffin, who held the same office in Westminster Gatehouse were left in the Lodge. "Never throw away a chance," thought Jonathan. He drew a little breath and stepped back. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs.
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