Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. . It was plain that a man of his age could only be interested for one reason alone, yet she felt compelled to at know him a little before the main event. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action.
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