He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. But I want to know whether in such an event you would stand by me?” She held out her hand. “That is very nice of you,” she said.
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