I love you, my God, how I love you! but I want to go away from
you and pray in the little quiet church, where I made my first Communion.
I will come to the world's end with you; but oh, Sebastian, do not ask me,
let me go. You will forget me, I am a little girl to you, Sebastian. You
cannot care very much for me.'
The man looked down at her, smiling masterfully, but very kindly. He took
the mutinous hand, with its little sprig of heather, and held it between
his own. He seemed to find her insistence adorable; mentally, he was
contrasting her with all other women whom he had known, frowning at the
memory of so many years in which she had no part. He was a man of more
than forty, built large to an uniform English pattern; there was a touch
of military erectness in his carriage which often deceived people as to
his vocation. Actually, he had never been anything but artist, though he
came of a family of soldiers, and had once been war correspondent of an
illustrated paper. A certain distinction had always adhered to him, never
more than now when he was no longer young, was growing bald, had streaks
of gray in his moustache. His face, without being handsome, possessed a
certain charm; it was worn and rather pale, the lines about the firm mouth
were full of lassitude, the eyes rather tired.
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