She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. Gerald took Madame’s hand and kissed the fingers with a little more warmth than punctilio demanded. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. His brows drew a little nearer together. She moved then, fast, taking refuge behind a Chinese screen that was set beside the four-poster at the back of the room.
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