’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. Her eyes followed him. She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. McClintock had brought from Penang three mangosteen evergreens; and, wonders of wonders, they had thrived —as trees. . She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. No, don’t let me call myself that.
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