" "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority. But her heart kept on sinking. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind. Their conversation hung. “To-night we are as we have always been.
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