He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. “I am going to ignore it. White told me where to find you. Bach?” They unanimously said yes. “I think that it is only an idea. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. "Bravo!" shouted Blueskin.
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