" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. “Bother it all!” she swore. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. ’ ‘To be sure I do,’ said Gerald swiftly. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. "I am too much honoured—too happy in the union. ’ ‘But Gérard knows.
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