I don't care how lonesome it is. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. She recalled that she had heard nothing that first time when Gerald and the captain had burst in upon her. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. They put her down, and she leaped at them; she smote a helmet to the ground.
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