’ ‘So you think she is an émigré?’ Lucilla put in before the incensed Roding could respond. “It’s my fault. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. He gave Valade the go-ahead and they’ve gone off to visit him. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. So far she had the utmost difficulty in getting on to that vitally important matter. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face.
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