I am not angry with you, but with this—this—’ ‘Idiot? Imbecile?’ offered Gerald in a helpful tone. CHAPTER XII. She asked no further questions for the moment. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. ‘Do you know, Mademoiselle Charvill, you are a thought too clever for your own good. Do look at this tragedy in mauve, who has just come in. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood.
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