Jonathan Wild brought him off. I was worried. “Let me see,” he said. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving. .
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