"They are
rather cut off but I like them--especially on hot nights."
They glided up to the extreme top of the house. She opened the
gates and led the way into what was practically an attic
sitting-room, decorated in black and white. Wide-flung doors
opened onto the leads, where comfortable chairs, a small table and
an electric standard were arranged. They were far above the tops
of the other houses, and looked into the green of the Park.
"This is where I bring very few people," she said. "This is
where, even after my twenty-eight years of fraudulent life, I am
sometimes myself. Wait."
There were feminine drinks and sandwiches arranged on the table.
She opened the cupboard of a small sideboard just inside the
sitting-room, however, and produced whisky and a syphon of soda.
There was a pail of ice in a cool corner. From somewhere in the
distance came the music of violins floating through the window of
a house where a dance was in progress. They could catch a
glimpse of the striped awning and the long line of waiting
vehicles with their twin eyes of fire. She curled herself up on
a settee, flung a cushion at Sir Timothy, who was already
ensconced in a luxurious easy-chair, and with a tumbler of iced
sherbet in one hand, and a cigarette in the other, looked across
at him.
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