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Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. She used to play violin, you know. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. She had seen Mrs. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family.
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