There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. But what would her aunt think of Teddy’s recent off-hand suggestion of marriage? What would she think of the Widgett conversation? Suppose she was to tell her aunt quietly but firmly about the parasitic males of degraded crustacea. Shari smiled and Mike whispered to her. So was I, in fact. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea.
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