She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. “My dear Miss Pellissier,” he said impressively, “this is an unexpected pleasure. Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. Then he paused. ’ ‘Exactly so. Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland.
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