‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. But if you do not leave this room I must. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. Give me your staff. ‘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. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones.
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