CHAPTER XXXI.
An hour or so before sunset the next day John Derringham in his motor was climbing the steep roads which lead to San Gimignano, the city of beautiful towers, which still stands, a record of things mediaeval, untouched by the modernizing hand of men.
A helpless sense of bitterness mastered him, and destroyed the loveliness and peace of the view.

Everything fine and great in his thoughts and aims seemed tarnished.

To what stage of degradation would his utter disillusion finally bring him! Of course, when Cecilia Cricklander should once be his wife, he would not permit her to lead this life of continuous racket--or, if she insisted upon it, she should indulge in it only when she went abroad alone.

He would not endure it in his home.

And what sort of home would it be?
He was even doubtful about that now.