“We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. He was no longer in military uniform, and it was evident from his suit of brown brocade that he had been disturbed while preparing for an evening engagement. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. "Gone," replied the wounded man.
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