Empty, silly, coarse brutes. "But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. “But I am your husband,” he said. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me.
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