talk, in which I generally had to expose the pernicious or idiotic view of life presented by the dramatist.
As far as I could find out, Angel had but one conspicuous weakness, a pitiable fondness for the game of golf—lawn-tennis is my game. I made shift to bear with it, in the interests of her health, and on two or three afternoons I sent her down to Wimbledon with Bottiger, whose morbid craving for the game was far greater than her own. He assured me that she played very well indeed. "In another year," he said, with a hushed solemnity, "she will make any woman in England go."
It was curious that at the end of ten days both Angel and I had fallen into a habit of talking about the future as if she had taken the place of my sister and sharer of my rooms for good and all. I did not expect the good fortune to last, though Angel's lack of friends seemed to prevent the possibility of interference, but I was bent on making the most of it, and, as I have said, the charming presence of a delightful creature made life a far more important matter.
The police did not trouble us, or at any rate troubled us very little. Chelubai did not suffer from the acute form of remorse, the fear of detection; Angel and the need of working hard to keep the home over our heads gave me very little
