“What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. ’ ‘What offer?’ she asked, suspicion rife in her voice. Not for me. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. “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. ‘Wait! No time for that. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him.
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