She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. “Please let me drive you home. "And, now I'll tell you what they do. It was never intended that I should marry Monsieur Valade, but after the tragedy—’ her eyes darkening in genuine distress ‘—and that he was the only survivor, he came to me in the convent and married me, and brought me to England. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. ” “For example?” “Your dyed hair.
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