On the day he carried the manuscript to Copeley's he brought back a packet of letters, magazines, and newspapers. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. Later. “I certainly knew him no better than you. “My dear sweet Lucia. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. But I have two hundred thousand pounds. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard.
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