” She smiled artificially as she scanned the audience and located John. So he resolved to try another tack. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. He encouraged her to join him in his debauchery. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. “I will not trouble you with any questions about the other occupants of the flats,” Mr.
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