As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for some time buried in reflection. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. He added succinctly, ‘Windows are open. She had found that proof. He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was a riddle, and four-square besides.
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