‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense.
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