‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. I give you the plain, unadulterated truth. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him.
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