The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. She lied. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table. She trembled; but she did not know why. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not.
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