’ That wonderful poster—is of you. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. She could think of nothing more to say. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving. I'd like to be alone now.
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