MICHAEL GETS 'WHAT-FOR'
AFTER is Green Street quest Michael had wavered back down Piccadilly, and, obeying one of those impulses which make people hang around the centres of disturbance, on to Cork Street. He stood for a minute at the mouth of Wilfrid's backwater.
'No,' he thought, at last, 'ten to one he isn't in; and if he is, twenty to one that I get any change except bad change!'
He was moving slowly on to Bond Street, when a little light lady, coming from the backwater and reading as she went, ran into him from behind.
"Why don't you look where you're going! Oh! You? Aren't you the young man who married Fleur Forsyte? I'm her cousin, June. I thought I saw her just now." She waved a hand which held a catalogue with a gesture like the flirt of a bird's wing. "Opposite my gallery. She went into a house, or I should have spoken to her--I'd like to have seen her again."
Into a house! Michael dived for his cigarette-case. Hard-grasping it, he looked up. The little lady's blue eyes were sweeping from side to side of his face with a searching candour.
"Are you happy together?" she said.
A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. A sense of general derangement afflicted him--hers, and his own.
"I beg your pardon?" he gasped.
"I hope you are. She ought to have married my little brother--but I hope you are. She's a pretty child."
In the midst of a dull sense of stunning blows, it stag