"It won't catch fire!" he cried. "Knew it wouldn't."
"Well, taste it cold; it smells delicious."
She plucked a rose from the vase and strewed the petals on the surface of the liquid to help the taste, whilst Mr Bevan ladled some into a glass.
"It's not bad, 'pon my word it's not bad; the curaçoa seems to blend all the other flavours together, but it's fearfully strong."
"Wait"—she ran to the sideboard for a bottle of soda water.
"Mix it half and half, and see how it tastes."
"That's better."
"Then we'll take it into the library, it's more comfortable there. You carry the bowl, and I will bring the candles."
"What are these?" asked Mr Bevan, as he removed some papers from the library table to make room for the punch bowl.
"Oh, some papers of father's."