Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. ‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor. . “You do not even know what you are talking about. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. " "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. “We have come too close together for me to believe it.
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