‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. They crossed the Channel in sunshine and a breeze that just ruffled the sea to glittering scales of silver. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. But at least it gave her more time. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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