‘Hilary, you must stop referring to mademoiselle as “she”. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. “Believe me, I know. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. She had never dreamed of such decadence, never imagined that young people could be so happy and healthy. But, no. She laughed altogether in her old manner. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet.
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