Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. One point was that she was to wear fancy dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. E. You must say farewell to her, for I cannot.
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