What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. “I remember you now,” he said. And, lastly, there's Mr.
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