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“Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. Talked about his years, his position and his constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin.
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