“You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. I am clear I want you. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. ” “I am frightened of Sir John,” he said, “but I suggest that we risk it. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. .
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