‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. I ——” He stopped short. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece.
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