" "You cannot help yourself, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, contemptuously. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. If I had never met anything of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I know I would have kept that somewhere near to me. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. Arriving at the chapel, their wonder increased.
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