“You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. . Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. It was among artistic people. Perhaps in two or three weeks. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality.
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