She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. The first was to break a dinner engagement. You’re the only person I’ve really given good, straight, unselfish thought to. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. "I can, and will. I don’t see any good in life if it hasn’t got you in it. "Dying, Sir Rowland.
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