With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. Wood, as, having seen the earth thrown over the remains of the unfortunate Mrs. Consternation gripped him. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side.
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