The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Earles said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed upon her, “forty at the ‘Unusual,’ two turns, encores voluntary, six for matinées. It seems to me exactly what is wanted. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. ‘That is good. “I get that a lot. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman.
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