She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. The blood temporarily halted to her brain, Michelle slept peacefully again. We dine at seven-thirty. No doubt there’s some little mistake. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea.
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