‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. She had imagined she had drowned them altogether. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. "I thought it best that you should imagine him.
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