Septic poisoning. I began to remember a little about that. I remembered two words which seemed very like “septic poisoning” in reports of trials of wretched women who had “operated.” Surely, Masters couldn’t ... she had, after all, trusted me--“be nice to him”--and I must at once think the worst thing. Oh, God, how foul a thing a man’s mind is, how foul! But, Iris, dear Iris, why is one able to think of these awful things in connection with you! “There’s always hope, you know,” Masters was muttering. “Pity you kept your taxi. I could have dropped you. And Donna Guelãra didn’t die, did she?” But how Anna Estella had desired to live! “Die, me!” she had later screamed with laughter. Iris had trusted me. “Be nice to him”--her very words. And I had thought that ... “Masters, you won’t mind my coming round again? Perhaps to-night?” “Sleep here, if you like,” he smiled. “I’ll be coming myself for a second, about midnight. Wife’s got a party. Like to come? Rather good bridge. Well, please yourself....” II I agreed with my sister that it was abominably rude of her younger brother to be nearly an hour late to take her out to dinner, especially as she had been ready for at least twenty minutes. She was furious. I said: “There is a new dance place open. I heard about it from a friend of mine, Mr. Cherry-Marvel. You will meet him, he is charming. This new place is called _La Plume de Ma Tante_. It has only been open three nights, so it will be very modish for another two. There is a nightingale there.” “One cannot dance to a nightingale.” “But why are you so exclusive?” “It is cruel and beastly to keep a nightingale caged.” “Dear, it takes a woman who once had a passion for aigrettes and who loves eating lobsters to be so sensitive. But there is probably baser music to supplement this nightingale. There are, in fact, five lovely niggers. The place is called _La Plume de Ma Tante_ so that English people may know exactly where they stand.” “You are so funny to-night, but would you mind not polishing your shoes on my dress? This is a very terrible taxi, and I think men are monstrous. If you were taking any woman but your sister out to dinner you would have chosen the taxi with discretion.” “Rudolf and Raymonde are the dancers. I do not want to go to The Pen of My Aunt, but for your sake I would go anywhere. After dinner.” She was pleased, loving to dance. We walked up the pavement of the rue Royale to the quiet doors of Larue. She said: “I love Rudolf and Raymonde. I saw them dancing at Monte Carlo, and they say American women give him platinum watches from Cartier and that he was a footman in San Francisco, or was that Rudolf Valentino?” I said: “I say, do you know anything about septic poisoning?” “Really, how callous you are! Do I know anything about it! But I had it!” “No!” One’s sister! “But of course I had it! It is amazing when one’s own brother is quite unaware that one has been through endless pain and torture.”