What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. “Have you no understanding of your own advanced history classes? You want to look like a brainwashed Nazi anti-Semite?” Lucy became angry, her nostrils flaring. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. I don’t mind it. I’m not half smart enough for the West End.
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