Warren’s Profession furtively with Hetty Widgett from the gallery of a Stage Society performance one Monday afternoon. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. . " There was a pause.
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