” She laughed softly. M. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. “Go from me, husband!” With a flourish he brought her arms behind her and her body was slammed to the floor. As she stared her eyes grew accustomed to the night; and she discovered five persons instead of four. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. Around her neck was a little gold chain.
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