There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. "The gentleman under the table," she answered. ’ ‘Nonsense, it’ll give Pottiswick something genuine to complain about,’ said Gerald cheerfully, moving to the edge of the trees. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid.
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