Suddenly she had become afraid. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night.
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