At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She is English, and apparently in some distress. “We will take it then,” he said, “that you have refused or ignored one request I have made you this morning. “I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. I certainly didn’t mean to kiss you. They could not go on. “We will see that he never annoys you. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Something is feeding upon them. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud.
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