" She reflected. "Yes,
practically, it will, but--oh, it's very extraordinary! You've had all
your fun of engagement and all that, long ago." She looked down deeply at
her hand; and then she gazed at her sister. "And, oh, Sancie, you've had
your honeymoon!" Before the deadly simplicity of that last stroke Sanchia
fell, and lay quivering. She could not ask for mercy, she could explain,
extenuate, nothing. Huddled she lay. At this aching moment the one thing
that the world held worth her having seemed to be the approbation of this
butterfly child. For Vicky's happiness was specific. Nuptial bliss lay, as
it were, crystallised within it. There are moments in one's life when love
itself seems lust, and safety the only holy thing. Vicky, tearing at her
heart, had turned her head.
Vicky once gone, with promise of frequent intercourse by letter and
otherwise, it was to Philippa's fine house and respectable man-servant she
next surrendered herself. The meeting was cool, but not intolerable to a
goddess sore from Vicky's whip. Philippa could ply a longer lash, but not
by the same right, nor with the same passion to drive it home. Sanchia's
eyes met hers upon the level; and if the elder had a firmly modelled chin,
so had the younger sister.
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