“I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips. Goodbye. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin.
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