’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. The events that had initially followed in the wake of her triumph over Emile Gosse had quite confused and dazed her. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. Sc. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet.
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