“I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. And there was another matter. I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. F.
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