‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. “I’m really very sorry. You are always doing something for nothing, and that is why I love you. I am going up to dine with my sister. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. ’ Lucilla gaped. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. E. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done. An electric light flashed out from the wall. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery.
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