He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. It seems that he was a sort of family friend of the Pellissiers, and it was the artist sister whom he was with. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. ” She patted his arm and wiped her tears away.
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