“But—your people!” she gasped. “You have dyed your hair and darkened your eyebrows. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. Proof that the scoundrel had risen from the dead—for he was dead to his father! He glared at the female whose appearance in England had revived those painful memories—churning unbearably since Brewis Charvill had brought him the news and put him in the worst of tempers—and the fury spilled out. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum—that thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you—” He held out his hands, and she also stood up. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible.
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