"Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. ” She said. . ” “I will have your reason for this,” he said. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. ‘We were wondering about that. I’d do anything, Vee. " "Well, villain!" replied Thames, "I know not the motive of your visit.
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