But I will never—never return. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. “I am in love with you. '—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse.
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