I could not have committed this robbery. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. A maidservant held the front door open. “We shall try again later. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture.
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