“But your sister?” he asked. . “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. \" He rose and departed. The marriage cannot—shall not be delayed. ” Courtlaw rose too. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. ” He stalked around the room. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. I like such interviews. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head.
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