‘Get you invited to a party where the French émigrés will be present? Nothing easier, dear boy. ‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing. Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead.
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