She isn't used to cities. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. They are not your children, they never were. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. Oh God! pardon me. Here I am as an alternative either to nasty work—or going home. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully.
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