Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler. ’ ‘So you think she is an émigré?’ Lucilla put in before the incensed Roding could respond. Nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings. “I have been training myself to look askance at beautiful things. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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