This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Now, Sir. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. He hated the taste of it. One of his chair coolies had witnessed the transportation of Spurlock by stretcher to the sampan in the canal. He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s.
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