*** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. She appeared to be considering. “Yes. I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. ‘No need to upset yourself. I did not reckon upon—him.
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