Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. ’ He had abandoned the “sir”, Gerald noted, realising that the footman’s respect for him had dropped sharply. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. “I always shall. I throw up work—everything! I just teach in one school, one good school, three days a week. She cried out with the pain of it. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. ’ ‘I thank you,’ Gerald said drily. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. Stars appeared in the periphery of her vision. “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. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books.
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