Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. Good night. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. Spurlock bent his head to the rail. She glared at him with satisfaction. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. She was like an angel with one wing.
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