Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. It has become a part of the order of my life. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all.
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