’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. "Do you call this frantic glee happiness?" "It's all the happiness I have known for years," returned the widow, becoming suddenly calm, "and it's short-lived enough, as you perceive. "I haven't worn anything else in weeks.
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