“Mr. Michael Fane,” she read, “1 Ararat House, Island Road.” She looked at him and raised her eyebrows.
“You see, I expected to live there myself,” Michael explained. “I told a friend of mine, Maurice Avery, to clear up everything. The furniture can all be sold. If you want anything for here, take it of course; but I think most of the things will be too large for Mulberry Cottage.”
“And what shall I say to Lily?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t think I should say anything about me.”
“Who was the man?”
“I never saw him,” said Michael. “I only saw his hat.”
She pulled him to her and kissed him.
“How many women have done that suddenly like that?” she demanded.
“One—well, perhaps two.” He was wondering if Mrs. Smith’s kiss ought to count in the comparison.
“I never have to any man,” she said, and vanished through the door in the wall.