” He said jealously. “Where am I?” he muttered. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. Not all of us, but some of us. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. ’ ‘Yes, but I do not like to scrub the floor and peel the vegetables and feed the pig. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped.
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