She crushed the letter in her hand. Brendon. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. I am sure that he can be got rid of. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. The three of them laughed joyously. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust.
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