Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. But you will, you will. “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. Wood heard the cry. After all, life had still its pulsations. He thought of his wealth for once from a different point of view. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. “John,” she said, “I can spare you that question.
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