‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. Only au revoir. ’ He believes that she denies it simply because owing to my marriage with Sir John, whom they call the ‘Puritan Knight,’ she wants to keep her identity secret. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. An influence of this description appeared to be exerted on the present occasion. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food.
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