They all left the room. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. The room seemed a vacuum. Our heads swim with the thought of being together.
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