Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. So saying, he manfully resumed his work; while Wood and Thames quitted the room, and went down stairs. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something.
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