It was the size of my palm. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. Sir John waved her back. So he was forced to shift and proceed at another angle, forgetting his promise to McClintock to be temperate. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. The curtain rose out of the concluding bars of the overture and revealed Isolde on the prow of the barbaric ship. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone.
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