" "Why, what the devil's this?" vociferated Jonathan, looking up. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. Gosse had to release his clamp on her mouth, for the awkwardness of the position made it impossible to negotiate the little stair. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle.
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