Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. But I want to know what you are doing. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses.
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