I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He filled his pipe slowly. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw.
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