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” “You disappoint me,” she said wearily. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. ‘But this Englishwoman,’ asked the man Valade, his puzzlement plain to see, ‘who was she?’ The question irritated Charvill. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. How you dress when you're loafing will be no concern of mine; but fresh twill or Shantung, when you dine with me, collar and tie.

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