" "Who's lost?" demanded Ireton. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla. Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. "And what do you suppose we mean to do with you, eh?" "You mean to kill me," replied Thames, "by my cruel uncle's command. To-morrow I'll wire Cook's and the American Express in Hong-Kong to see if there is any mail. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. But send me word. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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