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Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. “I have made no arrangements as yet— none at all. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Besides, Gerald would not for the world have passed up the chance of a little excitement. ” Courtlaw laughed hardly. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own," he added, mentally. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions.
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