. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. “No, he grabbed my hand. ‘Come, cry a truce. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. “There wasn’t. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. The point is, I know all the tricks in finding a man. "I wanted you to know. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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