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‘Eh bien, you are not like Leonardo. Please don’t tell anyone, mister. ” Lucy blinked from the winter sunlight and reached behind herself to yank at her hood. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. CHAPTER XXVIII. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. The women’s meeting was much more charged with emotional force than the Socialists’. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. .
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