I hear her coming. ’ ‘Madame la Comtesse,’ put in Melusine, for she had learned much by pumping le pére Saint-Simon, who was acquainted with all the French exiles. Michelle’s eyes widened. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. 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.
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