‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. “And you?” “Same thing. Manning?” she asked. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door.
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