’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. It rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. You could, if you were ambitious to round out your education, memorize certain popular foreign phrases. “We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground,” she said. Don’t try. Anna saw it, and for the first time found herself trembling. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. “Home, of course,” she answered. “All these days I have taken her for you.
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