An actress of course, a line of light perpetually beneath her.

It was only "My dear" that she said, but her voice went jodelling between Alpine passes.

And down she tumbled on the floor, and sang, since there was nothing to be said, round ah's and oh's.

Mangin, the poet, coming up to her, stood looking down at her, drawing at his pipe.

The dancing began.
Grey-haired Mrs.Keymer asked Dick Graves to tell her who Mangin was, and said that she had seen too much of this sort of thing in Paris (Magdalen had got upon his knees; now his pipe was in her mouth) to be shocked.