But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. Who is it?” The man came a little further into the room. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. She was powerless to move from her chair.
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