“Lady Ferringhall, sir. Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. Gerald closed the door and released Melusine, and then went to open the shutters on a window that faced the side of the house. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance. “Why?” “I still love you. ‘I knew it. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall.
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