“I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. Here you only waste your time. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. The weather harmonized with their feelings. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am.
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