been, as it were, done up to match his clothes, as though a sort of moral cosmetic had made him pinker, shinier and sprightlier without really rejuvenating him. A thin veil of high spirits had merely been drawn over his face, as the shining strands of hair were skilfully brushed over his baldness.
"Here! Carte des vins, waiter! What champagne, Susy?" He chose, fastidiously, the best the cellar could produce, grumbling a little at the bourgeois character of the dishes. "Capital food of its kind, no doubt, but coarsish, don't you think? Well, I don't mind . . . it's rather a jolly change from the Luxe cooking. A new sensation—I'm all for new sensations, ain't you, my dear?" He re-filled their champagne glasses, flung an arm sideways over his chair, and smiled at her with a foggy benevolence.
As the champagne flowed his confidences flowed with it.
"Suppose you know what I'm here for—this divorce business? We wanted to settle it quietly without a fuss, and of course Paris is the best place for that sort of job. Live and let live; no questions asked. None of your dirty newspapers. Great country, this. No hypocrisy . . . they understand Life over here!"
Susy gazed and listened. She remembered that people had thought Nelson would make a row when he found out. He had always been addicted to truculent anecdotes about unfaithful wives, and
