" "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. Then he stood up and repeated it again. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. ” “Will you remember me?” “Unfortunately. I'm heading for bed.
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