“Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. But all of that was forgotten. ’ ‘But you are bleeding like a pig,’ came the frantic response. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. He was not in love with her en désespoir which, he said, was necessary if a man would marry without getting a dowry from his wife.
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