White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. "All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. 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. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. Something happened down there, and probably I'll never know what.
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