“But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. This is retribution. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. You were delicious in concert, by the way. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. They were drenched with water and suds. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. “For great passions, for great accomplishments. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. Her mother had prepared her for everything. I do not love you.
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