The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. I spent this afternoon in detention. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs.
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