‘I am Major Gerald Alderley of the West Kent Militia. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. Anybody in pain had only to call to him. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness.
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