At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. V. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face. She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead.
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