“Tut, tut!” he said. Sulphurous poisons assaulted her nostrils as she threw the stone to one side of its resting place. As they approached London Bridge, the thief-taker whispered Van Galgebrok, who acted as steersman, to make for a particular arch—near the Surrey shore. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity.
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