‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. This time she was indeed beaten. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Jonathan's threats are not to be sneezed at. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself.
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