’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Gerald stayed him. The latch came with a weak click. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. “It jars. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself.
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