And very nice too. But what has it or he to do with us?” “Blasphemy!” cried Mrs. Aldwinkle, flying to the defence of Buonarroti. Mr. Falx harked back to an earlier grievance. “You malign human nature,” he said. “All very true and indeed obvious,” was Mr. Cardan’s comment. “But I can’t see why you shouldn’t allow us to amuse ourselves with Michelangelo if we want to. God knows, it’s hard enough for a man to adapt himself to circumstances; why should you deprive him of his little assistants in the difficult task? Wine, for example, learning, cigars and conversation, art, cooking, religion for those that like it, sport, love, humanitarianism, hashish and all the rest. Every man has his own recipe for facilitating the process of adaptation. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to indulge in his dope in peace? You young men are all so damned intolerant. How often have I had occasion to say it? You’re nothing but a set of prohibitionists, the whole lot of you.” “Still,” said Mrs. Chelifer in her gentle and musical voice, “you can’t deny that prohibition has done a great deal of good in America.” They strolled back to the tea-table, which they had left a few minutes before to look at the view. Miss Elver was just finishing an éclair. Two empty dishes stood in front of her. “Had a good tea?” asked Mr. Cardan. Miss Elver nodded; her mouth was too full to speak. “Perhaps you’d like some more cakes?” he suggested. Miss Elver looked at the two empty dishes, then at Mr. Cardan. She seemed on the point of saying yes. But Mrs. Chelifer, who had taken the chair next hers, laid a hand on her arm. “I don’t think Grace really wants any more,” she said. Grace turned towards her; a look of disappointment and melancholy came into her eyes, but it gave place after a moment to a happier expression. She smiled, she took Mrs. Chelifer’s hand and kissed it. “I like you,” she said. On the back of Mrs. Chelifer’s hand her lips had left a brown print of melted chocolate. “I think you’d better just give your face a little wipe with your napkin,” Mrs. Chelifer suggested. “Perhaps if you dipped the corner of it first into the hot water....” There was a silence. From the open-air dancing-floor, a hundred yards away beneath the trees, came the sound, a little dimmed by the intervening distance and the pervading Roman noise, of the jazz band. Monotonously, unceasingly, the banjos throbbed out the dance rhythms. An occasional squeak indicated the presence of a violin. The trumpet could be heard tooting away with a dreary persistence at the tonic and dominant; and clear above all the rest the saxophone voluptuously caterwauled. At this distance every tune sounded exactly the same. Suddenly, from the band-stand of the tea-garden a pianist, two fiddlers and a ’cellist began to play the Pilgrims’ Chorus out of _Tannhäuser_.