A light wind lifted the carpet at the door, and she wondered drowsily whether Nevill had left the drawing-room window open.
He had done all that she supposed, and more.

First of all, he drank a little more than was good for him; this happened occasionally now.

Then he sat down and wrote what he thought was a very terse and biting letter to Stanistreet, in which he said: "You needn't call.

You will not find either of us at home at Ridgmount Gardens from May to August, nor at Thorneytoft from August to May.

And if you should happen to meet my wife anywhere in public, you will oblige me greatly by cutting her." This letter he left on the table outside for postage in the morning.