For politeness' sake I continued to puff at the unclean thing until I nearly made myself sick.

Then, simulating absentmindedness, I threw it into the fire.
Why, in the sacred name of Nicotine, does a luxurious lady like Lola Brandt smoke such unutterable garbage?
On the other hand, the tea which she offered us a few minutes later, and begged us to drink without milk, was the most exquisite I have tasted outside Russia.

She informed us that she got it direct from Moscow.
"I can't stand your black Ceylon tea," she remarked, with a grimace.
And yet she could smoke "fags." I wondered what other contradictious tastes she possessed.

No doubt she could eat blood puddings with relish and had a discriminating palate for claret.

Truly, a perplexing lady.
"You must find leisure in London a great change after your adventurous career," said I, by way of polite conversation.
"I just love it.