Perhaps I deceived you about it. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. Earles declared. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. The land about these walls is a common graveyard. So he made his dispositions and went off on some other fool’s errand. The future was not so black.
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