” 227 “Your family?” “She was my first wife, and because she turned me, she was like a mother to me. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. I'm glad of it, I'm sure; for it's all owing to him his poor mother's here. “When one wants a thing more than anything else in the world,” she said with outrageous frankness, “one naturally wishes one had it. This at once thrilled her and worried her. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Besides, this is an affair which no one but myself can settle.
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