It was rather trying to have to deflect their
enthusiasm at a moment's notice from Joan Sebastable to Rhoda Ellam; but,
after all, it was James's wife who was in question, and his tastes had
some claim to be considered.
On a September afternoon of the same year, after the honeymoon in Minorca
had ended, Cushat-Prinkly came into the drawing-room of his new house in
Granchester Square. Rhoda was seated at a low table, behind a service of
dainty porcelain and gleaming silver. There was a pleasant tinkling note
in her voice as she handed him a cup.
"You like it weaker than that, don't you? Shall I put some more hot
water to it? No?"
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF CRISPINA UMBERLEIGH
In a first-class carriage of a train speeding Balkanward across the flat,
green Hungarian plain two Britons sat in friendly, fitful converse. They
had first foregathered in the cold grey dawn at the frontier line, where
the presiding eagle takes on an extra head and Teuton lands pass from
Hohenzollern to Habsburg keeping--and where a probing official beak
requires to delve in polite and perhaps perfunctory, but always tiresome,
manner into the baggage of sleep-hungry passengers.
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