The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman. It occasionally troubled the major that Hilary’s staunch loyalty had led him into hair-raising exploits at Gerald’s side, for he was perfectly aware that Hilary would not have dreamed of deserting him. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered.
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