She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. He opened the drawer of the writing table. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Indeed I am! I would make this country a collective monarchy, and all the girls and women in it should be the Queen. Don’t leave me. “But you must forgive me, John. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive.
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