Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. She bussed his cheek with her small lips as he stood by the open door, and exited alone towards the sleeping house. The young lady saw the change, and almost snorted. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. ” “Did I?” she said.
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