Stop it. Wagstaff. ’ ‘No, miss,’ cut in Kimble. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Good-bye. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. ’ There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze. ” She laughed gaily—and she had a way when she laughed of throwing back her head and showing her beautiful white teeth, so that mirth from her was a thing very much to be desired.
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