But he might just as well have written to the station master or the municipal gasworks.

As a matter of fact Jane and he were as much lost to one another as if the whole of England had been primaeval forest.
It was a calamity which he regarded with dismay.

He had many friends of the easy theatrical sort, who knew him as Paul Savelli, a romantically visaged, bright-natured, charming, intellectual, and execrably bad young actor.

But there was only one Jane who knew him as little Paul Kegworthy.

No woman he had ever met--and in the theatrical world one is thrown willy-nilly into close contact with the whole gamut of the sex--gave him just the same close, intimate, comforting companionship.
From Jane he hid nothing.