He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. ‘What would you do in Valade’s place?’ ‘You mean, knowing that the girl was here and liable to queer my pitch?’ ‘Precisely. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. The biological laboratory, perpetually viewing life as pairing and breeding and selection, and again pairing and breeding, seemed only a translated generalization of that assertion. But—if you are a friend of Mr. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief.
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