” He referred to a sheet of paper by his side. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. For a moment she remained silent. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony.
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