"I was thinking of the Thirty-Nine Articles," he replied in a voice that he failed to recognise as his own. "Shall we go back?"
Without a word she rose and they walked towards the Imperial. Was it his imagination, or did her steps really lag? She appeared listless, so different from what she had been at dinner. It was absurd. He was in a mood to attribute all sorts of causes to simple actions. In suggesting that they should return to the hotel he had deliberately stabbed himself, and the pain of it maddened him. Still the Challice pride had triumphed.
There was no doubt about the listlessness with which Lola climbed the steps to the hotel. At the foot of the stairs she turned, and in a tired voice bade him good-night—where was that little intimate smile that he had come to regard as his own most cherished possession?
He went out once more into the night and walked and walked and walked, returning when the birds were twittering their greetings to the dawn.
