"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. May we not repeat them once, at any rate, in London? “Ever yours, “NIGEL ENNISON. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. As he passed the Six Bells, he noticed the steeds of the two horsemen at the door; and glancing into the house, perceived the younger of the two in the passage. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. Then he sensed the trap. . . And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound. They struck her as cold and indifferent. Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company.
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