“Yes?” he said. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. Nor, he would wager, had the heroic Monsieur Valade, who had rescued her from that life and brought her to England, taught her in that short time all that Gerald was certain she knew of men. “Lord!” she said. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest.
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