Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. “Then why go out with him, Michelle? Why belabor yourself?” Lucy questioned. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. I can talk with them. He was unable to possess Lucy's hand as he had in the cinema, separated by the annoying chasm between the van's plush seats. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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