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She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. It drives one mad at times. Recollect that. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. Oh, you cannot escape from it. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. B. The day comes when you shall regret how you have spoken to me.
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