I love my husband. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. For all the enervating heat, he applied himself vigorously to his tasks. I was grounded for the last two weeks. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at Waterloo.
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