I waved her into a corner of the library out of the way, and she smoked cigarettes and looked on at the performance.

Now I come to think of it, we must have afforded an interesting spectacle.

There was the gaunt, one-eyed, preposterously wigged image clad in undervest and shrunken yellow flannel trousers which must have dated from his gym-instructor days in the nineties, violently darting down on his heels, springing up, kicking out his legs, shooting out his arms, like an inspired marionette, all at the words of command shouted in fervent earnest by a shrivelled up little cripple in a wheel-chair.
When it was over--the weather was warm--he passed a curved forefinger over his dripping forehead, cut himself short in an instinctive action and politely dried his hand on the seat of his trousers.

Then his one eye gleamed homage at Betty and he drew himself up to attention.
"Do you mind, sir, if I send in Ellen with the drinks ?" I nodded.

"You'll do very well with a drink yourself, Marigold." "It's thirsty work and weather, sir." He made a queer movement of his hand--it would have been idiotic of him to salute--but he had just been dismissed from military drill, so his hand went up to the level of his breast and--right about turn--he marched out of the room.