Volume Four--Chapter Four.
In Preston Street.
He said, “I happened to be in Brighton, so I thought I’d just call, and—I thought I’d just call.”
She stared at him, frowning, in the dim diffused light of the street.
“I’ve been seeing your little boy,” he said. “I thought perhaps as I was here you’d like to know how he was getting on.”
“Why,” she exclaimed, with seeming bitterness, “you’ve grown a beard!”
“Yes,” he admitted foolishly, apologetically.
“We can’t stand here in this wind,” she said, angry with the wind, which was indeed blowing her hair about, and her skirts and her duster.