“Bladge!” he cried, and his voice rang true. “You are wonderful! I see all this century in you!”
But just then a voice was heard behind them. General Tremullion was coming down from the Bezique Gallery with Lady Jordan. He was still talking professionally.
“A whiff of powder soon puts things right,” he was saying.
Bladge looked surprised.
“You too, General!” she cooed, almost hectically, Gav thought. “You very nearly shock me, you know.” And with neat furtiveness she offered him a tiny crystal tabatière encrusted with fire-opals.
“What—what’s this, m’gal?” gasped General Tremullion. Lady Jordan, a skilled hostess of the haute monde, affected to notice nothing.
“But have a whiff, old thing, if it does you good,” answered Bladge cordially. “It’s the right stuff all right. Straight from Chinatown!”
But the old soldier declined.
“You young people!” he smiled, and passed on.
A piqued frown shadowed Lady Blandula’s brow for an instant.