The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. The first person who issued from the Lodge was Mr. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. I’ve no name for it yet. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. It was a clear, lovely, October morning.
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