Challenge accepted. He turned. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. ‘I do not believe you. She was now permitted freely to study the face. Besides, it was under false pretences. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. Sir John stood upon the threshold.
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