She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. “Before I heard much Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I didn’t like at school. In military circles, highly exaggerated tales of Major Alderley’s derring-do were bruited from lip to lip and passed on to raw recruits to strengthen morale. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. Later on I could scarcely have forgiven you. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. And a broken picture that was torn when I hit him with it.
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