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Wenny had come back with the lemon and dropped a piece into each of the three cups. Then he sniffed at his hands.

"That's a splendid lemon. It's wonderful how good it makes your fingers smell."

She watched his lips form the words. Semetic lips, like in the Assyrians in the museum, she thought.

"Gertrude said"; Fanshaw was taking little sips of tea as he spoke, "You'ld be taken up with the spirits."

"Not gin I hope." She tossed her head up suddenly, lips pressed together. Fine gesture that, whispered some mocking demon in her.

Fanshaw smiled indulgently with thin lips.

"No, I mean spooks," he said. "Gertrude said you did extraordinary things with a ouija board. She's very silly, you know."

"Made me out a regular witch of Endor, did she?" Her voice was tense in spite of herself.

"O, I hate the longfaced way people talk about that guff ... as if people dead could be more important than people alive," Wenny blurted out angrily.

Nan found herself looking in his eyes; the black pupils widened as she looked in them. There was a warmth about her body as if his vehemence had communicated itself to her. Then the eyes flashed away.