CHAPTER XVI. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. ‘I don’t want to hurt you any more. At least for one moment, it was. It was no use. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. ’ Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit. "Ja," answered Van; "at a minut's nodish. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. She had seen Mrs.
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