‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’ ‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward.
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