“This girl—she’s really a very charming, frank person—had had her imagination fired, so she told me, by a school performance of Romeo and Juliet. It was dry, as if she had powdered it. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. I will arise myself. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. Let—it—fall. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. But, it can't be helped.
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