She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. I just like you, Mary, and we’ve had a lot of fun. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. Here one might live the life of golden days. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square.
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