In worldly matters Gay was not fortunate. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Only she is not Madame Valade at all. Capes kept obstinately stiff, and spoke between his teeth. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. I’d to go to Remenham House as well, and show Pottiswick your letter of authorisation. Something drew you. It is perfectly intrusive of me, and I quite see that you must be sick to death of running into such an interfering busybody all the time.
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