If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. . Her lips parted, but no words came. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound.
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