‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. You wore a blue dress with your hair unbound, and never had I seen a maid so glorious with eyes so blue or a smile so bright. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. It slid off flimsily. “I think,” he said, “that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to see.
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