At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. He woke up with a start and the alarm clock read 4:46 P. .
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