She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. But Gerald kept to a casual note. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. Why do you think I’m indulging in all this very un-English love talk?’ ‘But you are idiot, Gérard. Another picture slid across her vision. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. I wonder ——” “London is a huge place,” Brendon said. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said.
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