Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She said that she couldn’t stand Mike. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You needn’t be in any doubt about it. There were no mourners. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at Waterloo. “Something. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. ‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker.
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