"Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. I don’t think you understand. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. She glared at him with satisfaction. ’ Gerald could not resist.
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