‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. "Victoria; that's the hotel. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it.
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