They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Presently he heard her voice. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. Businesswomen in pointy-toed shoes swooned coyly in his direction, tipping their noses over their glossy magazines to admire 273 him. A farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of Mr. Stonily he had disengaged himself. His brain reeled.
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