Thus they played at half-revealed travesties of passion; she keeping back much she would not have had him guess; he himself, perhaps, only half-realizing how little he allowed her glamour to interfere with his art until the light was gone and his craft at rest. The man had not even the excuse of jumping blood, the plea of hot-headedness. He never allowed his intrigues to interfere with his self-ordained task of setting a crown of contemporary fame upon his achievement....
It was dusk when he said inquiringly:
“You’ll have some tea?”
He rang the bell.
She laughed gaily:
“You have not turned on the light,” she said.
He snapped the trigger of the electric switch, and the room burst into light.
An old man-servant flung open the door and entered, bearing a glittering tea-service on a silver salver. As he came into view round the edge of the high screen, Pangbutt beckoned him towards the throne:
“Set the tray by her ladyship, Dukes,” said he.
The old butler set down the things on the throne at her feet.