‘What would you do in Valade’s place?’ ‘You mean, knowing that the girl was here and liable to queer my pitch?’ ‘Precisely. On this I am resolved. So the talk went on. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. “You have succeeded a little too well in your personation,” she said bitterly, “to get rid very easily of Mr. You must—you shall be mine.
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