Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. “Thank you. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see.
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