Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. She’s very special. Mike was in his blue jeans and a tee-shirt, and Lucy, knowing that Mrs.
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