The Wastrel did not relish this. Lucy simply added her own good night, even though a significant part of her wanted to call Cathy mother, she refrained. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another.
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