‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside. “I think that I shall be the most unpopular man in London. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact. Good-bye.
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