One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. He had more time for her. That’s as far as we go. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. But one was clearly the goddess among them, her face hidden, her body seeming to call out to me to possess it at once.
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