She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. “Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. "But you do agitate me so much. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless.
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