“My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My God!” Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. ‘Get you invited to a party where the French émigrés will be present? Nothing easier, dear boy. Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. He had not thought to find a lady so ready of humour and willing to give him a hearing. That's why I'm so anxious to get her to a haven.
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