Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. Their small talk continued. ‘What a fate he finds for me. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. . ’ He grinned. And talking of every conceivable thing.
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