Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. “But I am your husband,” he said. He watched her, savoring her curious attention. She donned her gloves. The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. ‘Lord in heaven, did I do that?’ exclaimed Gerald remorsefully. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. Quite right. When he was given the telegram he flew to the Praya, engaged the fast motorboat he had previously bespoken against the need, and started for the Macao Passage, with the vague hope of speaking The Tigress.
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