The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. He was a philosopher. ‘I left a message at home that he should do so as soon as he returned from Kent. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. " "I hope not," replied Wild. ’ He heard Roding snort, and suppressed a grin as he bowed, taking the trouble to salute Madame’s hand and cast her a provocative look as he did so. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. ‘This is not love, Marthe. But his role was altered, and he was now playing the bridegroom in this remarkable drama.
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