Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. ” “Yes,” she said, and abruptly she liked him enormously. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Then for a time she forgot the Fadden affair altogether. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. White was scattered across the long stretches of pine trees and corn fields. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master.
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