Men do not understand constancy as women do. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. ‘And this is not all,’ went on the lady, evidently determined to disclose all her wrongs. She had done forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its traditions to the compromising life.
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