E. "The poor young man!" she said. ‘I feared as much. He was inclined to be a good-natured person, and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub. He’s the sort of johnny who wouldn’t care about having a sister-in-law on the loose. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. ‘Knowed it the instant I set eyes on her. Very well! I will try to help you. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them. “I was really interested in his stuff.
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