“It is a great art,” she said in broken English. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. "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. ’ Gerald grinned. She approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain.
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