“I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. Before she passed out she turned and faced Sir John. “How ridiculous! Fancy you with all that money! For heaven’s sake, though, do not go about playing the Don Quixote like this. ” “Nor I. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. ‘Quick, Gérard. ” “You forget,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, “that under the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than I could ever have earned in a year by my own labours. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. .
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