Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. Now how in the world was he to get rid of the husband? His luck was in. Lucy's grin faded. CHAPTER XXXII. She had called the police on them anonymously. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Whisky kills him suddenly; it does not sap him gradually. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree.
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