It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. ’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out. However, I'd rather have a blow from the daughter than the mother. For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict.
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