You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. She laughed a little contemptuously. Never be downhearted. I can talk with them. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test.
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