It's
wonderful. Love is a wonderful thing."
"It's all we have in the world. I am here to tell you that he waits for
you. Good-night."
"Good-night, Struan," she said. "I'm quite happy now."
She remembered afterwards, with a shock of dismay at her selfishness, that
she had never asked Struan of his welfare.
* * * * *
She came to herself with a shudder and envisaged her circumstance. She had
had "a rare vision," like Bottom the weaver--and that was all. Jack
Senhouse had never loved her so. To him she had been Artemis, the cold
goddess, or Queen Mab, whom no man might take. He had said so often--and
had looked it whenever she was near him. Meantime, she was to be married--
and _Tristan_ was unprofitable provender. It had given her an indigestion
of the mind. She would go to bed.
That she deliberately did--with one ceremony, characteristic of her
frugality. She opened a locked drawer, and looked at its contents. There
lay three goodly piles of letters, tied with blue ribbon. Each packet was
labelled "Jack to Me," and dated with beginning and ending. She contented
herself with looking at them, smiling wisely and thoughtfully as she did
so.
Pages:
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390