It is sometimes consoling to call people that which you know they are not, yet heartily wish they were.
Aubrey entered his sitting-room. He wanted an immediate vent for his ill-humour and sense of impotent mortification.
The leaf from Dick's note-book lay on the table.
Aubrey took it up, opened the iron door of the stove, and thrust the leaf into the very heart of the fire.
CHAPTER VIII
PARADISE LOST
Aubrey Treherne sat at his writing-table, his head buried in his hands.
Before him lay the closely-written sheets of his letter to Helen; beside them her pencil note which had fallen, unnoticed by Ronnie, from her letter to him.