“Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. I’m so glad you’re not angry. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. She said that? To be closer to you?” “I think she is plotting something, though I cannot guess what. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall.
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