” Their eyes met for a moment. “Won’t you have some more tea, Mr. ‘For your messenger was obliged instead to come and find Hilary, and it has given me the opportunity to meet you. It’s an instinct. But there was an abiding serpent in this Eden. “Number 13, please, cabman. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl.
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