“Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed.
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