It was but a brief message telling that he’d posted an anonymous letter to her parents in London assuring them of her well-being, that he expected Gerald to see that she had whatever she needed in clothes and pocket money, and that he’d be home Christmas week. Gerald finished reading and looked down to where she sat with a faraway expression, in her eyes. There was a wistfulness on her face that touched him, and he felt compelled to drop a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Do not be pining for him, Ellen,” he advised her gently. She gave a guilty start. “I am not pining!” “You would have better luck in getting me into parson’s mousetrap than Alex, my dear—and that’s not saying much.” “Gerry, please, I am not up to even the mildest flirtation.” “ ’Twas not my intent, Ellen. I was but telling you that neither of us is husband material, when it comes down to it.
