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She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen.
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