Here, it might be anything at all. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. ’ The idiocy of it all irritated Melusine. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. " "I'm sure I'm very sorry. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. ’ Gerald could not suppress a grin. "Perhaps. \" He rose and departed. He jumped out of his own side once again and ran around the car to open hers in another theatrical display of chivalry. "Sorry you're obliged to keep your word. ‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage.
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