“There wasn’t. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. ’ ‘You’re going?’ asked his friend, and the note of relief was marked. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. ’ The door closed behind them both and Gerald was alone with Melusine. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. ‘And I am thinking now that you may be very suitable.
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