I'm an old hand at such things. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. ‘My wife would say she is English a little. ‘I know you, Gerald. " "Very well, sir. ” He stroked her hand gently. It must be sent home this evening. Only an undermaid I was then.
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