Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Men do not understand constancy as women do. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. ’ ‘Because I like you, of course,’ Gerald said promptly. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end.
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