Some petty, unexpected trifle will turn up, of course.

All that I want to know is what you mean to do." "To do ?" repeated Tom softly, and blew a long scarf of smoke out of the window.
"Ah!" Crailey's voice grew sharp and loud.

"There are many things you needn't tell me! You need not tell me what I've done to you--nor what you think of me! You need not tell me that you have others to consider, that you have Miss Carewe to think of.

Don't you suppose I know that?
And you need not tell me that you have a duty to Fanchon--" "Yes," Tom broke in, his tone not quite steady.

"Yes, I've thought of that." "Well ?" "Have you--did you--" he hesitated, but Crailey understood immediately.
"No; I haven't seen her again." "But you--" "Yes--I wrote.