The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. Still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. Things seem to come rather easily. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. He is in the care of those who will not leave the task assigned to them—the utter perversion of his principles—half-finished.
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