It was admirably suited to two men who found amusement in being primitive or to a romantic honeymoon couple who wanted to fancy themselves on a desert island.
Better still, it might have been built for just that night, for Palgrave and the girl who had taken shape in his one good dream.
Joan got out of the opulent car and watched Gilbert run it round to the side of the house.

There was no garage and not even a shed to give it cover.

Gilbert left it in the open, where it remained sulky and supercilious, like a grand piano in an empty kitchen.
Joan had noticed this place twice that day--on the way out to find Martin, and again on the way back from having heard the voice of the girl with the white face and the red lips and the hair that came out of a bottle.

Martin--Martin--and it was all her fault.
She wondered for a moment why no one came to open the door.

Some one was there because smoke was coming out of a chimney.