Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. Look at the cock’s feathers, look at the competition there is everywhere, except among humans. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. You skulk in shadows, following an émigré.
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