’ Her lips parted, but she did not speak. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. If only Gerald would come. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. "He'll learn that his plans will be defeated. ” “Yet you are very young.
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