Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. "Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs.
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