’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. ” She said. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune.
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