The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. “And for me it has been Pride and Pride and Pride! “I am the prodigal daughter. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. I see now that you make a game with me indeed. Brutes! They are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do without them. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes.
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