She flew up from her stool and faced the door. “Eight, Cavendish Square. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. Rummage, my boy, do. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly.
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