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The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis. We remember it. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. In my search after strange characters, Mr. “You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. We’ve deserted the posts in which we found ourselves, cut our duties, exposed ourselves to risks that may destroy any sort of social usefulness in us.
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