She recoiled. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. It was good to kiss you, even at the price. “Don’t come nearer!” she said. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. “I’m five years older than you, and no end wiser, being a man. ‘A word, if you please, my friend.
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