She did most urgently desire to save her face in Morningside Park, and for long hours she could think of no way of putting it that would not be in the nature of unconditional admission of defeat. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. “Still, since it is better to tell you, Sir John is very much in earnest, but his respectability is something altogether too overpowering. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. It is better that you go away now, I think. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room.
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