" O'Higgins grinned. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. Call her Miss Pellissier, eh? I tell you she’s my wife, and I’ve got the certificate in my pocket. ’ ‘How shocking,’ Gerald returned, grinning. ’ She dropped to her knees before her old nurse and hugged the workroughened hand with both her own, looking up into Martha’s face where slow tears were tracing down her cheek. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. Utter silence answered him.
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