. She is no longer mine; she is yours. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. He heard the door close; and in a little while he fell into a doze; and there came a dream filled with broken pictures, each one of which the girl dominated. ” His father interjected. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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