“Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. Abruptly would come the end. I know how bad it feels. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows.
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