It isn't the spoken lie that's the worst."
"What is?" asked Bridget.
"The abominable whitewash we daub over our lives. The eternal pretence
to be something we are not. The---- But," Jimmy broke off, with a
laugh, "you must always pull me up when I show signs of beginning to
preach!"
As he was speaking, the door opened and Miller in his quiet way
announced--
"Colonel Faversham."
"Hullo, Jimmy, are you here!" he exclaimed, as Bridget offered her hand.
"Don't you think it looks rather like it?" answered Jimmy, with an
ingratiating smile. "I hope your knee is better, colonel."
"Quite all right," said Colonel Faversham, with a scowl. "Never
anything the matter with it. I am never ill. There isn't a sounder
man in London."
"Oh well, that's a large order," answered Jimmy. "Still, at your age I
don't suppose there is."
Colonel Faversham looked as if he would like to annihilate Jimmy, who
was struggling to put David Rosser's novel into his jacket pocket.
Then he said "good-bye" to Bridget, adding coolly--
"I shall bring back the book in a day or two."
With a nod to the colonel he left the room, whereupon Faversham lowered
himself carefully into a chair.
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