“With my key.”
“Then the maids don’t know. You can’t stay here, Monty.”
He uttered a little sardonic laugh.
“Where then?”
“Anywhere.”
“Well, look at me! That—that damned....”
“If you mention her,” cried Winifred, “I go straight out to Park Lane and I don’t come back.”
Suddenly he did a simple thing, but so uncharacteristic that it moved her. He shut his eyes. It was as if he had said: “All right! I’m dead to the world!”
“You can have a room for the night,” she said; “your things are still here. Only Imogen is at home.”
He leaned back against the bed-rail. “Well, it’s in your hands,” and his own made a writhing movement. “I’ve been through it. You needn’t hit too hard—it isn’t worth while. I’ve been frightened; I’ve been frightened, Freddie.”