"What's all this?" exclaimed Wood in amazement. 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. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. "I am Owen Wood, at your service.
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