Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. And this though he was evidently passionately in love with her. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life. Be kind to her. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. That is what my mother used to call me. I knew him in spite of his dress. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. Winny, this is the last night I shall pass beneath your father's roof.
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