*** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought. It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. But Jonathan was not to be deterred. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. He resolved to judge for himself. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. “I hope that you are going to allow me to see something of you during your stay in London, for the sake of old times.
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