He would clear out--see as little of Nan as possible.

It was the best thing he could do for her, and the consideration of what it would cost him he relegated to a later period.
His steps lagged somewhat as he followed the manservant upstairs to Kitty's own particular den, and the slight limp which the war had left him seemed rather more marked than usual.

Any great physical or nervous strain, invariably produced this effect.

But he mustered up a smile as he entered the room and held out the recovered fan.
The "little milliner" was nowhere to be seen, and Kitty herself was ensconced on the Chesterfield, enjoying an iced lemon-squash and a cigarette, while Penelope and Barry were downstairs playing a desultory game of billiards.

The irregular click of the ivory balls came faintly to Mallory's ears.
"Got my fan, Peter?
Heaps of thanks.