She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention.
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