For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty insults more irritating than dangers, lurk. He was the junior of both his sisters, co-educated and much broken in to feminine society. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last.
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