He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of his dream. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him.
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