” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. “Let me see,” she said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. But don't suppose, Madam, that anything I say has reference to you. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. " "So that is what separated us! Oh, Hoddy, you have wasted so many wonderful days! Why didn't you tell me?" "I couldn't!" He made as though to draw away, but her arms became hoops of steel.
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