I thank God for His sunlight on your face. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. 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. ‘You wish a life of obedience? So be it, Mademoiselle Charvill. ’ ‘So I see.
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