As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. "You'll find her quiet enough to-day, Sir," observed the woman, as they walked along; "but she has been very outrageous latterly. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. You. McClintock will have some.
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