Gerald grinned. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. Jack is registered in the Black Book. ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. ’ At that, a flush drenched her cheeks and she snatched her hand away.
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