And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. " "Have you told her?" "Told her? Told her what?" Spurlock sat straight in his chair. "What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. " "We waste time with this fellow," interposed Sir Cecil, "and may lose the object of our quest, who, beyond doubt, has taken refuge in this building. ‘Certainly I am catholique.
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