Chapter XII

Lady Georgina Loamer reclined at her ease in a long cane chair, a cigarette between her heavily-carmined lips, her bright eyes fixed upon her son. That small-featured man was not happy, and he had less reason for happiness because of his mother’s awful calm. A dozen times he took out his monocle, polished and replaced it in position. His fingers beat a miserable tattoo on the arm of the chair, and his mechanical smile was little more than a grimace. The town was still crowded; Main Avenue was a vista of twinkling l…