“Was it really only this afternoon that I met you in St. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. He had adroitly captured her and led her away from her other guests on the pretext of feigning an interest in her charitable attitude to the newly arrived French. "Holloa—what's that?" cried Austin, starting up. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. You feel that that smile is for you, the words are for you, the whole song is for you. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers.
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