So Ruth found that for a while her eyes were free. ’ ‘Madame la Comtesse,’ put in Melusine, for she had learned much by pumping le pére Saint-Simon, who was acquainted with all the French exiles. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. Always as black and bitter as gall. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. He had never wanted daughters. It was not quite the search I intended,’ he said with a touch of selfmockery as he released her, ‘but success comes in all sorts of unexpected ways.
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