She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Then she called a hansom and drove home. " "That is very kind of you," she acknowledged. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. Herein was the sum of human knowledge in essence. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something.
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