Do you know that even as I flung the cloak round her, in the excitement of the moment I 'sensed,' as my young nephew says, the perfume you use." He lifted his hand, conscious that his fingers still carried some of that delicate perfume which her fingers left there as they lay in his palm when she greeted him on his entrance.

"It was like an incense from the cloak, as it blanketed the flames.

Strange, wasn't it, that the undersense should be conscious of that little thing, while the over-sense was adding a sensational postscript to the opera ?" She smiled in a pleased way.

"Do you like the perfume?
I really use very little of it." "It's like no other.

It starts a kind of cloud of ideas floating.