"I never knew a beastlier atmosphere," Sylvia said. "It _reeked_ of rabbit's food." "You're quite mistaken," Tietjens said; "that is the Russian leather of the backs of the specially bound presentation copies in the _large_ bookcase." "I don't know what you're talking about," Sylvia said. "What _are_ presentation copies? I should have thought you'd had enough of the beastly Russian smells Kiev stunk of." Tietjens considered for a moment. "No! I don't remember it," he said. "Kiev? . . . Oh, it's where we were . . ." "You put half your mother's money," Sylvia said, "into the Government of Kiev 12½ per cent. City Tramways. . . ." At that Tietjens certainly winced, a type of wincing that Sylvia hadn't wanted. "You're not fit to go out to-morrow," she said. "I shall wire to old Campion." "Mrs. Duchemin," Tietjens said woodenly. "Mrs. Macmaster that is, also used to burn a little incense in the room before the parties. . . . Those Chinese stinks . . . what do they call them? Well, it doesn't matter"; he added that resignedly. Then he went on: "Don't you make any mistake. Mrs. Macmaster is a very superior woman. Enormously efficient! Tremendously respected. I shouldn't advise even you to come up against her, now she's in the saddle." Mrs. Tietjens said: "_That_ sort of woman!" Tietjens said: "I don't say you ever will come up against her. Your spheres differ. But, if you do, don't. . . . I say it because you seem to have got your knife into her." "I don't like that sort of thing going on under my windows," Sylvia said. Tietjens said: "What sort of thing? . . . I was trying to tell you a little about Mrs. Macmaster . . . she's like the woman who was the mistress of the man who burned the other fellow's horrid book. . . . I can't remember the names." Sylvia said quickly: "Don't try!" In a slower tone she added: "I don't in the least want to know. . . ." "Well, she was an Egeria!" Tietjens said. "An inspiration to the distinguished. Mrs. Macmaster is all that. The geniuses swarm round her, and with the really select ones she corresponds. She writes superior letters, about the Higher Morality usually; very delicate in feeling. Scotch naturally. When they go abroad she sends them snatches of London literary happenings; well done, mind you! And then, every now and then, she slips in something she wants Macmaster to have. But with great delicacy. . . . Say it's this C.B. . . . she transfuses into the minds of Genius One, Two and Three the idea of a C.B. for Macmaster. . . . Genius No One lunches with the Deputy Sub-Patronage Secretary, who looks after literary honours and lunches with geniuses to get the gossip. . . ." "Why," Sylvia said, "did you lend Macmaster all that money?" Sylvia asked. . . .