Lucy stood relieved that she had not messed up the solo. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. "Have a moment's patience, Sir Rowland," returned Wild; "and you shall hear. There was no need to be afraid for me. " "What do you mean, Sir?" asked Trenchard. ” “Lucy Albert, sir.
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