” He coughed gently. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. " Upon which, he set off in the direction of the entry. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said.
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