" "I am acquainted with Mr. ’ ‘Why not?’ Gerald asked straightly. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. She was emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw.
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