‘Dare I guess at the reason for your sudden interest in émigrés, Gerald?’ ‘Lucilla,’ barked Hilary warningly. It’s best. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her.
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