CHAPTER XIII. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. I have always been lonely. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. ’ Melusine might have responded that she had not asked him, but she was too intent on her mission. I bored him. The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. There was only one prisoner in the ward.
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