The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Hers were less noble, yet stately. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. “I never dreamt!” she said. . ’ Roding looked struck. ‘I have an excellent excuse to remain comfortably ensconced in my parlour here, able to indulge in my favourite pastime. He was in a curious state of desperation. ” He spoke a little nervously. ” He said wistfully.
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