He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. I am far too much the gentleman. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed. It probably still wouldn’t help.
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