Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. But he has never been near her—never. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. Sepulchre's church, and hurrying down Snow Hill, darted into the first turning on the left. I spoke a thought aloud. . What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. Could she hold him and manage the reins? If only Gerald had not gone. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, to think of one’s troubles at all except of how to overcome them. He was apt to play so many games, she was afraid she might have misunderstood. I drew out what I had saved and boarded the first ship out. .
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