Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. S. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently.
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