He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. "You've perjured yourself. You do not believe me. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. “I’ll get dressed. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. I love some one else. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose.
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