” “You like me?” “Yes. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. The men have never had so much work to do since they banded. He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before. ’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer.
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