“Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna. “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “I thought you were coming right across the Park. 4. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow.
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