Wood was once a favourite of yours. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. "But pray tell me if her husband has escaped?" "Her husband!" echoed Jonathan scornfully. All the same, I don’t admit it. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. I'll not speak of Jack or Jonathan. That’s— that’s my private life. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends.
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