“I knew of course that you were at the Montressor’s, but I had no idea that it was a music hall party afterwards. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. I thought I'd been sufficiently explicit," continued Jonathan. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. To-morrow they will all be contradicted. Later, when they returned home, she would serve as the topic of many conversations. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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