"What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. " "So did I," said Winifred. "Not a syllable," replied Wild. Another picture slid across her vision. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. Wary they might be. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar.
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