"Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. "I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. ’ ‘I thought so,’ Gerald said with satisfaction. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. She was going through with that, anyhow. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. ” He said wistfully.
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