Cathy commented, “You look very nice, Lucy. ” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. Her voice was weak and flat. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. “You too sing?” he asked. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. “Nigel is like all men,” Lady Lescelles continued.
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