"We're forgetting," he said. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. . She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. God gives us an equal chance; but we make ourselves. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. You will only make me hurt you the more. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box.
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