He turned a few more pages of Mrs. Clarke’s book, glancing here and there.
“Rosamund would hate this book,” he said presently. “It seems thoroughly anti-Christian. But it’s very wonderful.”
He put the book down.
“Dear Beattie! Guy cares very much for you.”
“Yes, I know,” said Beatrice, with a great simplicity.
“If he comes well out of this case, and feels he’s on the road to success, he’ll be another man. He’ll dare as a man ought to dare.”
She went on sewing the little garment for Dion’s child.
“I’ll walk across the Park with you, old Dion,” said Daventry that night, as they left the house in Great Cumberland Place, “whether you’re going to walk home or whether you’re not, whether you’re in a devil of a hurry to get back to your Rosamund, or whether you’re in a mood for friendship. What time is it, by the way?”
He was wrapped in a voluminous blue overcoat, with a wide collar, immense lapels, and apparently only one button, and that button so minute that it was scarcely visible to the naked eye. From somewhere he extracted a small, abnormally thin watch with a gold face.
“Only twenty minutes to eleven. We dined early.”