CHAPTER XVIII. She held up the lamp. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. I’m sorry. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. It's all your fault, you shaking coward! and, but that I feel sure you'll swing for your carelessness, I'd throw you into the well, too. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. ’ Tears glistened in her eyes.
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