Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. There haven't been so many ladies in the Lodge since the days of Claude Du Val, the gentleman highwayman; and they all declare it'll break their hearts if he's scragged. Papa has sent me to be religieuse. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday.
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