’ Exasperated, Gerald glared at her. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. A dressing-room then. The tail-ender of this little caravan, he had been rather out of it. She has no proof—yet. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. Perhaps because I don’t know. It’s not like we’re getting married. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. Go easy. Besides, there are greater rascals than Jack Sheppard at liberty, Sir Rowland.
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