But at the word “home” she turned again. ‘I see well that I am dealing with you. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. "I feel like work," he lied. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. Agents were dispersed in all directions—offers the most tempting held out to induce the wavering to join the Chevalier's standard.
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