"Isn't it saying the same thing as you, general, to say that I'd rather be made love to by a well-set-up man in blue and silver--or anything else!--than by most of the people one sees here! . . ." The general said: "Of course, if you put it that way, madam. . . ." She said: "What other way should a woman put it?" . . . She reached to the table and filled herself a lot of brandy. The old general was leering towards her: "Bless me," he said, "a lady who takes liquor like that . . ." She said: "You're a Papist, aren't you? With the name of O'Hara and the touch of the brogue you have . . . And the devil you no doubt are with. . . . You know what. . . . Well, then . . . It's with a special intention! . . . As you say your Hail, Maries. . . ." With the liquor burning inside her she saw Tietjens loom in the dim light. The general, to her bitter amusement, said to him: "Your friend was more than a bit on. . . . Not the Society surely for madam!" Tietjens said: "I never expected to have the pleasure of dining with Mrs. Tietjens to-night . . . That officer was celebrating his commission and I could not put him off. . . ." The general said: "Oh, ah! . . . Of course not. . . . I dare say . . ." and settled himself again in his chair. . . . Tietjens was overwhelming her with his great bulk. She had still lost her breath. ... He stooped over and said: It was the luck of the half-drunk; he said: "They're dancing in the lounge. . . ." She coiled herself passionately into her wickerwork. It had dull blue cushions. She said: "Not with anyone else. . . . I don't want any introductions. . . ." Fiercely! . . . He said: "There's no one there that I could introduce you to. . . ." She said: "Not if it's a charity!" He said: "I thought it might be rather dull. . . . It's six months since I danced. . . ." She felt beauty flowing over all her limbs. She had a gown of gold tissue. Her matchless hair was coiled over her ears. . . She was humming Venusberg music: she knew music if she knew nothing else. . . . She said: "You call the compounds where you keep the W.A.A.C.'s Venusberg's, don't you? Isn't it queer that Venus should be your own? . . . Think of poor Elisabeth!"