“You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. Something happened down there, and probably I'll never know what. You say that this gentleman was with you?” “I was,” Brendon answered, “most providentially.
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