Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. It is not the woman who speaks there. He had, however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles.
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