My only love is for my poor lost son. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. ‘But I was not there. Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. My people don’t know what to do.
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