Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. I like high tone for a flourish and stars and ideas; but I want my things. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. Listen, it is I. ‘As to Gérard, I do not know why he does this. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. CHAPTER I.
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