Page:Later Life (1919).djvu/27

Rh The table was laid. It was nearly seven. Constance would be there in no time. And, sitting down in the drawing-room with a cigarette, looking round the room—Constance' room all over, in which he sat as a stranger—he hummed, while he waited for his wife and his son:

"And Ottocar had a motor-car; but I—have—none! . . ."