ses with broken bottles!" (She meant that the police knew
their way about.) "I no more than they, I do not wipe my nose with
broken bottles."

She was moved, indignant, stoutly defensive. G.J. grew self-conscious.
Moreover, her slang disturbed him. It was the first slang he had heard
her use, and in using it her voice had roughened. But he remembered
that Concepcion also used slang--and advanced slang--upon occasion.

The booming ceased; a door closed. Marthe returned once more.

"Well?"

"He is gone. He was very nice, madame. I told him about madame--that
madame was very discreet." Marthe finished in a murmur.

"So much the better. Now, help me to dress. Quick, quick! Monsieur
will be impatient."

G.J. was ashamed of the innocence he had displayed, and ashamed, too,
of the whole Metropolitan Police Force, admirable though it was in
stopping traffic for a perambulator to cross the road. Five pounds!
These ladies were bled. Five pounds wanted earning.... It was a good
sign, though, that she had not so far asked him to contribute. And he
felt sure that she would not.

"Come in, then, poltroon!" She cooed softly and encouragingly from the
bedroom, where Marthe was busy with her.

The door between the bedroom and the drawing-room was open. G.J.,
humming, obeyed the invitation and sat down on the bed between two
heaps of clothes. Christine was very gay; she was like a child. She
had apparently quite forgotten her migraine and also the incident of
the policeman. She snatched the cigarette from G.J.'s mouth, took a
puff, and put it back again. Then she sat in front of the large mirror
and did her hair while Marthe buttoned her boots. Her corset fitted
beautifully, and as she raised her arms above her head under the
shaded lamp G.J. could study the marvellous articulation of the
arms at the bare shoulders. The close atmosphere was drenched with
femininity. The two women, one so stylish and the other by contrast
piquantly a heavy slattern, hid nothing whatever from him, bestowing
on him with perfect tranquillity the right to be there and to watch
at his ease every mysterious transaction.... The most convincing proof
that Christine was authentically young! And G.J. had the illusion
again that he was in the Orient, and it was extraordinarily agreeable.
The recollection of the scene of the Lechford Committee amused him
like a pantomime witnessed afar off through a gauze curtain. It had no
more reality than that. But he th