CHAPTER I. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. ‘I suppose I need not ask to which other soldier you refer. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. She was still good at following orders. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland.
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