They wanted a fellow like that on Nepenthe--a fellow who got things
done. Napoleon would have made no bones about the Wilberforce woman
over there. It was a scandalous state of affairs. What was the use of a
Committee for trying to keep her in order and getting her locked up in
a sanatorium? Everybody knew what a Committee meant. Committee! It was
a preposterous word. Committees were the same all the world over.
Committee! He was in charge of that particular one; they were dong all
they could, but what did it amount to? Nothing. To begin with, there
was not enough money coming in, unless somebody could wheedle a cheque
out of that rich old Koppen sensualist whose yacht might be arriving at
any moment. And then her own pig-headedness! She refused to be talked
over into doing what was in her own interests. Napoleon, he reckoned,
might have talked her over--ha, ha, ha!
The lady in question, all unaware of these humanitarian designs, had
taken up a strategic position in the neighbourhood of the drinks, and
was glancing shyly round the room in search of a likely male who would
fetch her a stiff glass of something from the buffet, and that soon.
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