"Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. ” The dinner was admirable as a dinner; nothing went wrong, from the golden and excellent clear soup to the delightful iced marrons and cream; and Miss Stanley’s praises died away to an appreciative acquiescence. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently.
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