It was cheating, pitiful cheating. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. “Hello, Vee!” he said. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. Mike was showing his territorial instincts, brought out by the fact that he was drunk. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman.
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