Chapter XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. My opportunities have been immense, and my failure utter. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station.
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