He nodded. She leaned a little towards him. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. “You are so sweet, Lucy. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. “It’s the centre of the intellectuals. “You’re very nice, both of you,” she said gently. But at the word “home” she turned again. ‘Gérard is not mad, only of a disposition entirely interfering. . . A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror.
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