‘Quite wrong, monsieur. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. I'm not interested in him. Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have to do is to take them well. He kissed her fingers and grinned.
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