Gerald, meanwhile, was off hunting up these lawyers, together with your son, ma’am—’ turning to Mrs Sindlesham ‘—and you know the outcome of that. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. I can’t love you. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing.
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