. ’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. Earles was absolutely indifferent. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. It does not matter to him either way. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. And all the talk of the Miniver people and the Widgett people seemed always to be like a ship in adverse weather on the lee shore of love.
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