“It isn’t only the dance,” she said. ” “I am not sure whether I feel inclined to scold or thank you,” she declared. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Say you will never forget! That these common things and secondary things sha’n’t overwhelm us. Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction.
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