“It’s my fault. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner. ‘I have said that I will tell you nothing of this soi-disant Valade. ’ ‘Quite right, Gerald,’ approved Lucilla. The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone. But she must stop him getting away. Before she knew what had happened, Gosse turned suddenly, and vaulted one of the pews into the gap behind.
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