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"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. A lovely, fetching girl. This gloom was impossible. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. That will be a fine day—it will have to be, when first you set eyes on Italy. I want to stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief.
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