How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. There was, it might be said, a double illumination. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. I’m glad you could come. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. Strange, I could never learn her history. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. . I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris.
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