Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish. No fear o' that. But she found an unknown lady’s discarded garments, and selected some of those that she tried on, sending Kimble off down the secret passage to load them onto the horse she had borrowed—unbeknownst to its owner—from Father Saint-Simon. He stopped abruptly. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. We can’t. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis.
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