“More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. A medley of motives warred in her, and it was certainly not one of the least of these that she knew herself to be passionately in love with Capes; at moments she had a giddy intimation that he was beginning to feel keenly interested in her. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary case of manhunt.
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