"Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. "No, no!" With a gesture, fierce and intolerant, she seized the Bible and thrust it out of sight, into the drawer. Think! You could not have done it. “I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. Well, kill me. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne.
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