Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. Selling out of the Army to take up his inheritance had spelled boredom to Gerald Alderley. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. On searching the coat, he found, amongst other matters, a mask, a key, and a pocket-book. It ceased to be the symbol of liberty and a remote and quite abstracted person, and became suddenly and very disagreeably the token of a large and portentous body visible and tangible. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. “My brother’s room when he comes home. Now when I tell you exactly the truth, you will also not believe me.
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