“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. But for now, I’d like to turn in, if you don’t mind. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ’ ‘What of your grandfather?’ Her lips parted in surprise. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Cathy's eyes widened, her cheeks expanding to a smile. She walked through the walls. Mr. ‘Not care? For this he must be an Englishman tout à fait sympathique, and— and I know only.
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