Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. Before she passed out she turned and faced Sir John. Then Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’ ‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo.
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