"Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. He slackened his pace as he reached the flat. "Here's the door. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold.
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