“By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “do you know that I am a very great admirer of your sister’s? I wonder if she has ever spoken to you of me. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. ” The hand lingered too long. ‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. They walked side by side for a time. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. .
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