‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England. Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. I am a man—of a sort of experience. I can’t even make myself care. He stood back and held her shoulders. Then the long lashes sank demurely over them. He took Diane out. Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Byby. They were sitting alone, Lucy.
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