The sitting-room contained, besides the armchair, two
other chairs, a piano, a three-legged table, and a cosy
corner. Of the walls, one was occupied by the window, the
other by a draped mantelshelf bristling with Cupids.
Opposite the window was the door, and beside the door a
bookcase, while over the piano there extended one of the
masterpieces of Maud Goodman. It was an amorous and not
unpleasant little hole when the curtains were drawn, and the
lights turned on, and the gas-stove unlit. But it struck
that shallow makeshift note that is so often heard in the
modem dwelling-place. It had been too easily gained, and
could be relinquished too easily.

As Leonard was kicking off his boots he jarred the
three-legged table, and a photograph frame, honourably
poised upon it, slid sideways, fell off into the fireplace,
and smashed. He swore in a colourless sort of way, and
picked the photograph up. It represented a young lady
called Jacky, and had been taken at the time when young
ladies called Jacky were often photographed with their
mouths open. Teeth of dazzling whiteness extended along
either of Jacky's jaws, and positively weighted her head
sideways, so large were they and so numerous. Take my word
for it, that smile was simply stunning, and it is only you
and I who will be fastidious, and complain that true joy
begins in the eyes, and that the eyes of Jacky did not
accord with her smile, but were anxious and hungry.

Leonard tried to pull out the fragments of glass, and
cut his fingers and swore again. A drop of blood fell on