formal trimness, and she detected, in an ultra-flat wrist-watch
and discreetly expensive waistcoat buttons, an attempt at
smartness altogether new. His face had undergone the same
change: its familiar look of worn optimism had been, as it
were, done up to match his clothes, as though a sort of moral
cosmetic had made him pinker, shinier and sprightlier without
really rejuvenating him. A thin veil of high spirits had merely
been drawn over his face, as the shining strands of hair were
skilfully brushed over his baldness.

"Here! Carte des vins, waiter! What champagne, Susy?" He
chose, fastidiously, the best the cellar could produce,
grumbling a little at the bourgeois character of the dishes.
"Capital food of its kind, no doubt, but coarsish, don't you
think? Well, I don't mind ... it's rather a jolly change from
the Luxe cooking. A new sensation--I'm all for new sensations,
ain't you, my dear?" He re-filled their champagne glasses,
flung an arm sideways over his chair, and smiled at her with a
foggy benevolence.

As the champagne flowed his confidences flowed with it.

"Suppose you know what I'm here for--this divorce business? We
wanted to settle it quietly without a fuss, and of course Paris
is the best place for that sort of job. Live and let live; no
questions asked. None of your dirty newspapers. Great country,
this. No hypocrisy ... they understand Life over here!"

Susy gazed and listened. She remembered that people had thought
Nelson would make a row when he found out. He had always been