‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. He turned in at the club. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue.
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