She twanged the catgut under her fingers. He groped her buttocks. ‘Hilary was right. ’ Gerald came into the room as he spoke, his eyes on the stormclouds rapidly gathering in Melusine’s face. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. It is a matter of degree. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time.
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