Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty. How is it that everyone is aware of these things except me?\" She said. But she veiled her feelings. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers.
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