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Aesop," it was resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on the sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob Pillin muttering: "Ye-es! Qui-ite! Ye-es!" and gazing at Phyllis over his collar.
"Do you know that? It's the first time I've heard it in London. It's the machiche. It's all over Paris. I think it's the most wonderful tune in the world." Her body swayed; her foot tapped. George listened. Yes, it was a maddening tune. "It is," he agreed eagerly. She cried: "Oh! I do love pleasure! And success! And money! Don't you?"
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