’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. He turned to Ruth and McClintock. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse.
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