"I suppose you think I have no right to be frivolling in these very serious times, but I am afraid I am rather an offender when the humour takes me.

You kept your word to Mr.Dartrey, I see ?" Tallente nodded.
"I came to town yesterday." "I must hear all the news, please," she insisted.

"Will you come and see me to-morrow afternoon?
I share a flat with another girl in Westminster--Number 13, Brown Square." "I shall be delighted," he answered.

"I think your hostess wants to speak to me.

She is an old friend of my aunt." He moved on a few steps and bowed over the thin, over-bejewelled fingers of the Countess of Clanarton, an old lady whose vogue still remained unchallenged, although the publication of her memoirs had very nearly sent a highly respected publisher into prison.
"Andrew," she exclaimed, "we are all so distressed about you! How dared you lose your election! You know my little fire-eating friend, I see.
I keep in with her because when the revolution comes she is going to save me from the guillotine, aren't you, Nora ?" "My revolution won't have anything to do with guillotines," the girl laughed back, "and if you really want to have a powerful friend at court, pin your faith on Mr.Tallente." Lady Clanarton shook her head.
"I have known Andrew, my dear, since he was in his cradle," she said.
"I have heard him spout Socialism, and I know he has written about revolutions, but, believe me, he's a good old-fashioned Whig at heart.
He'll never carry the red flag.