The bit about the dress, of course, varies. Sometimes the folds may be saffron-yellow, and the girdle opalescent, or there is no girdle at all; and anyhow, in those particulars, the same effect is never repeated twice. But I imagine that, like all women, she makes a point to herself of the accoutrements, not realising that the audience--almost altogether composed of men--attribute the entire effect to the sheer, smooth slope of her shoulders, the alluring curves of her mouth, the rich swell of her breasts beneath semi-transparencies. The impression that inwardly she is projecting really does reflect itself on to the minds of most people, I believe. It is only slightly distorted, even in my own version of it, which runs something like this: =“_The girlish figure dominated the room. Animal magnetism vibrated in every gesture_”= ... and so on--only leaving out the brilliancy of the eyes and the deepness of the voice, both of them rather cheap accessories to a pose that really is quite strong enough without them--to the end: =“_She held them all, by sheer will-to-dominate._”= Pamela, being a brilliant talker, prefers always to talk personalities. Two nights ago, sitting on that cushioned rail that runs round the fireplace, she recounted an adventure. “... Only it’s the spiritual adventure that I’m telling all of you. Because you’ll understand. The other part was all obvious, the danger and all that. You’ve probably seen it in the papers.” She was right. It had been lavishly paragraphed, with photograph inset. Her _flair_ for publicity is unerring. “Darlings, how I loathe the Press--if I could only tell you! But the other part of the affair was so utterly wonderful, that it’s swamped everything else. It was like a revelation. “You know how essentially super-civilised I am? A man once wrote a poem about my being like a piece of jade--hard, and brilliant, and polished, and yet with the unfathomable subtlety and agelessness of the East. My civilisation is partly temperamental, I suppose, and of course to a certain extent the result of elaborate education--and then hereditary as well. Look at Anthony. Could anyone have a more utterly civilised parent, I ask you? Elma is less poised, of course, but mercifully for me I’ve managed to inherit my mother’s physique and my father’s mentality. Like a sensitised plate, isn’t it? It does mean isolation of soul, and those terrible nerve-storms of mine, but in my heart of hearts I know it’s worth it. “Only people are so ghastly. My friends have to rescue me.... You remember what it was like, Torry, the night that woman assaulted me at the Embassy, and talked, and talked, and talked. O Christ! it was all about food, or flannel, or babies--something too utterly indecent, I know. I sat there, helpless, martyred--and darling Torry came and rescued me. I shall never forget it, Torry, you sweet, never.