Mr. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Lucy could see Diane’s clear dislike of her, the foster background she had come from, and the single mysterious episode with the police that had inflamed the gossips from all the corners of town. Her father’s peculiar stiffness of soul presented itself now as something altogether left out of the calculations upon which her plans were based, and, in particular, she had not anticipated the difficulty she would find in borrowing the forty pounds she needed for Ramage. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely.
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