There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. “Oh, there’s no doubt of it! Since the girls of the eighties broke bounds and sailed away on bicycles—my young days go back to the very beginnings of that —it’s been one triumphant relaxation. ’ Gerald infused sympathy into his voice, and deliberately addressed himself to Madame.
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