‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. ’ Melusine found her tongue.
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