A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. ‘It is not possible. But her tears had been for Leonardo’s expulsion, and the loss of his companionship. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. Die game.
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