Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. What little happiness I had I was forced to steal. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. Be warned by your father's fate.
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