A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. “To me it seems serious enough. "You depart for Lancashire to-morrow. Not so bad. Things seem to come rather easily. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests.
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