She was very pretty. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. To-day he selected the girl, and gave her the lead-chair. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. ’ ‘Lucilla,’ gasped Hilary, his cheeks reddening with wrath.
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