She was poor. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. “I’m not the Devil. ToC Mrs. Who invented them? Nobody knows. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. ‘I did not send you a card because in the normal way of things you rarely attend such affairs. It has been a marvellous day—and I am going to England. The light!—the light!" Astounded at his cries, Thames sprang towards him. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. It struck the major that she was very young. In the pause she realized the attention of the others converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes.
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