” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. And no ill-chances. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. But he tells them that I am a spy.
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